lilii'i 


! 


BR  100 

.E8 

1909 

Everett 

,  Charles 

Carroll , 

1829-1900 

Theism 

and 

the  Christian 

faith 

THE  HARVARD   THEOLOGICAL  REVIEW 


SUPPLEMENTARY  VOLUME   I. 


THEISM    AND    THE 
CHRISTIAN    FAITH 

LECTURES   DELIVERED   IN    THE 
HARVARD   DIVINITY   SCHOOL 


CHARLES    CARROLL    EVERETT,  D.D.,  LL.D. 


♦v- 


LATE  BUSSEY   PROFESSOR  OF   THEOLOGY  AND   DEAN   OF  THE 
FACULTY   OF   DrVINITY 


EDITED    BY 

EDWARD    HALE,  A.B.,  S.T.B. 


NEW  YORK 
THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

London:  Macmillan  &  Co.,  Ltd. 
1909 

All  Rights  Reserved 


Copyright,   1909 

By  the  PRESIDENT  AND  FELLOWS  OF  HARVARD  COLLEGE 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  August,  1909 


GEO.    H.    ELLIS    CO.,     PRINTERS,     272     CONGRESS    STREET,     BOSTON 


PREFACE. 


As  professor  of  systematic  theology  in  the  Divinity  School  of 
Harvard  University,  Dr.  Everett  gave  regularly,  each  year,  three 
courses  of  lectures  which  constituted  together  a  unified  body  of 
theological  instruction.  In  the  first  of  these  courses,  he  dealt 
with  the  psychological  roots  of  religion  which  he  found  in  the 
feelings  appropriate  to  the  three  ideas  of  the  reason, — truth, 
goodness  and  beauty.  In  the  second  course,  on  historical  re- 
ligions, his  purpose  was  to  present  various  systems  as  typical 
manifestations,  first,  of  the  religion  of  the  understanding,  Con- 
fucianism, and  second,  of  religions  in  which  one  or  another  of 
the  three  ideas  was  particularly  emphasized :  truth,  in  the  religions 
of  India,  especially  in  the  Vedanta  and  Sankhya  systems  of  phi- 
losophy; goodness,  in  Mazdeism;  beauty  in  the  religion  of  Greece. 
In  the  third  course  Dr.  Everett  first  unfolded  the  philosophical 
implications  of  the  three  ideas  in  a  doctrine  of  God  as  Absolute 
Spirit,  in  whom  they  have  full  realization,  and  then  considered 
in  the  light  of  them  the  fundamental  problems  of  theology,  and 
presented  Christianity  as  the  Absolute  Religion  because  compre- 
hending in  harmonious  perfection  all  three  ideas  of  the  reason. 
Of  these  courses,  the  first  has  already  been  published  (The  Psycho- 
logical Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  edited  by  Edward  Hale, 
Macmillan  Co.  1902),  and  was  so  well  received  that  the  Com- 
mittee of  the  Divinity  Faculty  having  its  publication  in  charge 
felt  warranted  in  proceeding  to  issue  the  third  course,  especially 
as  the  Rev.  Edward  Hale,  who  had  edited  so  admirably  the  pre- 
vious volume,  was  willing  to  undertake  the  much  severer  task  of 
preparing  this  course  also  for  publication.  The  difficulties  of 
the  work  were  enormous:  Dr.  Everett  left  no  manuscripts  of  his 
lectures,  and  the  editor's  sole  reliance  had  to  be  upon  students' 


IV  PREFACE 

notes  taken  in  the  class-room.  Moreover,  these  lectures  dealt 
with  profound  and  intricate  problems,  in  the  discussion  of  which 
much  depends  upon  a  precision  of  statement  rarely  found  in  class- 
room notes.  In  addition,  the  treatment  varied  from  year  to  year, 
far  more  than  was  the  case  with  lectures  in  the  first  course,  accord- 
ing to  the  changing  demands  of  theological  interest  and  the  cor- 
responding shiftings  of  emphasis  on  the  part  of  the  lecturer. 
The  magnitude  and  delicacy  of  the  task  are  mainly  responsible 
for  the  delay  in  the  preparation  and  publication  of  the  present 
volume,  but  it  is  believed  that  the  former  students  and  many 
friends  of  Dr.  Everett,  as  well  as  all  who  are  interested  in  the 
subjects  here  discussed,  will  welcome  this  literary  memorial  of 
a  subtle  and  luminous  thinker  who,  as  his  mural  tablet  in  the 
chapel  of  the  School  he  loved  and  served  justly  says,  "  showed 
by  life  and  doctrine  the  unity  of  the  Spirit  in  Truth,  Goodness, 
and  Beauty." 

W.  W.  Fenn, 
For  the  Faculty  of  Divinity. 
Harvard  University, 
June,  1909. 


EDITOR'S   PREFACE. 


The  thirty-five  chapters  into  which  this  book  is  divided  repre- 
sent some  ninety  lectures,  the  number  in  the  course  varying  a  little 
from  year  to  year.  In  preparing  them  for  publication  I  have  been 
indebted  to  the  Rev.  F.  M.  Bennett,  the  Rev.  J.  B.  W.  Day,  the 
Rev.  W.  F.  Furman,  Professor  H.  H.  Home,  the  Rev.  W.  R. 
Hunt,  and  Professor  H.  H.  Williams  for  the  use  of  their  notes, 
and  to  the  Harvard  Divinity  Library  for  the  use  of  notes  taken  by 
the  late  Rev.  Samuel  Foster  McCleary.  All  of  these  notes  have 
been  helpful,  but  I  am  under  especial  obligation  to  Mr.  Furman 
whose  careful  transcription  of  his  shorthand  notes  has  enabled 
me  to  reproduce  many  passages  with  a  fulness  which  otherwise 
would  hardly  have  been  possible. 

Edward  Hale. 
Chestnut  Hill,  Massachusetts, 
June,  1909. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

Agnosticism. — The  Unknowable  of  Herbekt  Spencer     ...         1 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Vorstellung 9 

The  Analogy  between  the  Supernatural  Element  in  the 

Universe  and  the  Principle  of  Unity  in  Human  Life,       15 

The  Three  Ideas  of  the  Reason  as  Guides  in  finding  a 
Philosophic  Basis  for  the  Term  "Spiritual"  as 
applied  to  the  absolute 16 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  First  Idea  of  the  Reason  manifested  as  Unity  in  Time, 

or  Eternity 18 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  First  Idea  of  the  Reason  manifested  as  Unity  in  Space, 

or  Omnipresence 26 

CHAPTER  V. 

Objections  to  Conscious  Spirit  as  a  Vorstellung,  based  on 

the  Analogy  of  Finite  Consciousness 35 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  First  Idea  of  the  Reason  manifested  as  Ideal  Unity,  or 

Omniscience 48 

The  First  Idea  of  the  Reason  manifested  as  Dynamic  Unity, 

or  Omnipotence 53 

The  Fourth  Definition  of  Religion 55 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Absolute  Being,  as  a  Spiritual  Presence,  in  relation  to  the 

Second  Idea  of  the  Reason 56 


Vlll  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGE 

Absolute  Being,  as  a  Spiritual  Presence,  in  relation  to  the 
Third  Idea  of  the  Reason: 

The  Divine  Glory 60 

The  Divine  Aseity 62 

The  Divine  Blessedness 62 

The  Terms  "Infinite"  and  "Perfect" 68 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  A  Priori  Argument 70 

The  Argument  from  Attributes:   Samuel  Clarke    ...  71 

The  Argument  from  Definition:  Anselm 72 

The  Definition  of  Perfection 73 

The  Argument  from  the  Nature  of  the  Divine  Being: 

Spinoza 75 

The  Argument  from  the  Nature  of  Man's  Apprehension 

of  the  Divine  Being:  Descartes 80 

CHAPTER  X. 

Positive  Discussion  of  the  A  Priori  Argument 83 

The  Argument  from  Universality  of  Belief 84 

The  A  Priori  Argument  as  involved  in  the  Three  Ideas 

of  the  Reason 88 

CHAPTER  XL 

The  Positive  Discussion  of  the  A  Priori  Argument  contin- 
ued.— The  Advantages  of  the  Argument  from  the 

Three  Ideas  of  the  Reason 98 

The  Postulates  of  the  Intellect 99 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Second  General  Division  of  the  Discussion:  the  Mo- 
ment of  Negation:  Creation,  Freedom,  Sin  and  Evil     105 

Theories  of  Creation 106 

Theories  of  Creation  as  having  a  Beginning  or  as 
without  a  Beginning. — The  Difficulties  of  either 
Theory 107 


CONTENTS  IX 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

PAGE 

Theories  of  Creation,  continued. — Vorstellungen  : 

The  Word;   Body  and  Soul;   Child  and  Parent  ....  117 
Creation  in  relation  to  the   Created:    Supremacy   of 

Spirit  in  the  Universe  the  Mark  of  Creation    .    .  123 

The  Account  of  Creation 123 

Scientific  Theories  as  to  the  Beginning  of  the  World  125 
Scientific  Theories  as  to  the  Nature   of   the  World: 

The  Atomic  Theory 126 

Force  and  Will 128 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Scientific  Theories  as  to  the  Nature  of  the  World,  con- 
tinued: Idealistic  Theories 132 

Mind-Stuff 133 

Creation  the  Objectifi cation  of  the  Divine  Idea:  Limit,  Im- 
penetrability, Divisibility 135 

Theory  of  Organic  Development:    Natural  Selection     .    .  136 

The  A  Posteriori  Argument 143 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  A  Posteriori  Argument,  continued. — The  Need  of  the 
Teleological  Principle  to  account  for  the  Results 

of  Atomic  Organization 147 

The  Teleological  Principle  and  Chance 148 

The  Teleological  Principle  as  involving  Natural  Se- 
lection   154 

Difficulties      155 

Are  there  any  results  that  cannot  be  produced  by 
Atomic  Organization  ? — Life. — Mind  with  its  Powers. 
— the  Unity  of  Consciousness 159 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Mind  and  its  Powers,  continued. — The  Will 165 

The  Idea  of  Perfection 169 

The  Principle  of  Teleology  as  involving  the  "  World-Soul." 

— Von  Hartmann's  Theory  of  the  Unconscious    .    .  174 


X  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XVI.— continued  page 

The  Movement  of  the  World  toward  Consciousness    .     176 
The  Movement  of  the  World  toward  the  Three  Ideas 

of  the  Reason  as  Ideals 178 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  A  Posteriori  Argument  the  Complement  of  the  A  Priori 

Argument 185 

Religion  and  the  Theory  of  Natural  Selection 189 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Beginnings  of  Creation 194 

Man's  Power  to  think  in  General  Concepts 199 

As  illustrated  in  the  Story  of  the  Garden  of  Eden  .    .  200 

Self-Consciousness  and  the  Sense  of  the  Supernatural,  201 

The  Sense  of  the  Comic 204 

The  Sense  of  Beauty 205 

Man  the  Ultimate  Product  in  the  Process  of  Development,  207 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  Second  Stage  in  the  Moment  of  Negation: 

The  Doctrine  of  Freedom 210 

Automatism:  Reflex  Action 211 

Formal  Freedom,  or  Freedom  of  the  Will 215 

The  A  Priori  Argument  against  Freedom  of  the  Will    .     217 
The  A  Posteriori  Argument  against  Freedom  of    the 

Will 220 

The  So-Called  Practical  Argument  against  Freedom  of 

the  Will 222 

The  Argument  in  Favor  of  Freedom  of  the  Will  based 

on  Direct  Self-Consciousness 223 

The  Argument  in  Favor  of  Freedom  of  the  Will  based 

on  the  Moral  Consciousness 224 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Freedom  of  the  Will,  continued. — Its  Limits 227 

Freedom  of  the  Will  as  the  Power  to  put  more  or  less 

of  Earnestness  into  Life 229 


CONTENTS  XI 

CHAPTER  XX.— continued  page 
Effect  of  this  View  upon  the  A  Priori  and  A  Posteriori 

Arguments  against  Freedom  of  the  Will 231 

Absolute  Freedom 233 

The  Meaning  of  the  Terms  "Nature"  and  "Natural"   .    .    .  234 

The  Divine  Freedom 237 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  Third  Stage  in  the  Moment  of  Negation: 

Sin  and  Evil. — The  Theory  of  Sin  dependent  upon  the 

Theory  of  Freedom  of  the  Will 239 

Conscious  and  Unconscious  Sin 240 

Attainment  not  a  Measure  of  the  Amount  of  Sin     .    .  243 

Sin  Primarily  a  State. — Sin  negative 246 

Sin  for  its  own  Sake 249 

Sin  from  the  Desire  to  cause  Suffering 251 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Sin  as  Selfishness 254 

Sin  as  Death 256 

The  Meanness  of  Sin. — Sin  in  Relation  to  the  Doctrine  of 

Evolution 258 

Theories  of  Sin  which  take  away  its  Sinfulness 259 

The  Three  Bases  of  the  Doctrine  of  the  Church  in  regard 

to  Sin 264 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Doctrine  of  Evil. — Evil  as  independent  of  Sin  ....  273 
Pessimism:   Theories  of  Schopenhauer  and  Von  Hart- 

mann 276 

Evil  as  dependent  upon  Sin 281 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Breach  caused  by  Sin  and  Evil:  between  Man  and  his 

Environment:  between  Man  and  God      285 

The  Movement  on  the  Part  of  Man  to  heal  the  Breach: 

Sacrifice 289 

Vicarious  Sacrifice,  Real  and  Formal 291 


Xll  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXIV.— continued  page 

The  Movement  on  the  Part  of  God  to  heal  the  Breach: 

Penalty. — Retribution  and  Reform 292 

The  Nature  of  the  Penalties  for  Sin 296 

The  Final  Healing  of  the  Breach 300 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  Third  General  Division  of  the  Discussion: 

Reconciliation. — The  Doctrine  of  the  Atonement     .    .  301 

The  "Cur  Deus  Homo"  of  Anselm 303 

Peter  Lombard 308 

Thomas  Aquinas 309 

The  Reformation 309 

The  Socinians  and  Grotius 310 

The  Doctrine  of  the  Atonement  as  involving  the  Prin- 
ciple of  Vicarious  Suffering 314 

The  Change  of  Attitude  toward  Vicarious  Suffering: 
the  Explanation  of  it  suggested  by  Comte's  Theory 

of  the  Human  Understanding      315 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Modern  Theories  of  the  Atonement:  McLeod  Campbell  and 

Dorner 317 

BUSHNELL   AND    NEWMAN    SmYTH 318 

The  Pauline  View 320 

The  Doctrine  of  the  Trinity:  Dorner  and  Shedd 323 

The  Argument  from  the  New  Testament 325 

The  Doctrine  of  the  Incarnation:  Dorner  and  Ritschl     .    .  326 
The  Nature  of  Jesus  and  of  the  Holy  Spirit  considered 
as  the  Arrival  of  the  Spiritual  Principle  in   the 

World  at  Complete  Self-Consciousness 328 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Christianity  as  the  Absolute  Religion 334 

The  Three  Ideas  of  the  Reason  the  Test  of  Absolute  Re- 
ligion.— Christianity  and  Unity 336 

Christianity  and  Goodness 337 

Christianity  and  Beauty 341 


CONTENTS  Xlll 

CHAPTER  XXVIL— continued  page 
Christianity  and  the  Needs  of  the  Understanding  and  the 

Heart 342 

The  Teaching  of  the  New  Testament 345 

Christianity  and  Modern  Thought 349 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Christianity  as  the  Absolute  Religion:    the  Practical  As- 
pect.— The  Precepts  of  Christianity  General  and 

Intuitive 352 

The  Teaching  of  Christianity  embodied  in  the  Person- 
ality of  Jesus 353 

The  Life  of  Jesus  an  Ideal  for  all  Lives 354 

The  Sinlessness  of  Jesus 354 

The  Character  of  his  Life  Universal 357 

The  Institution  of  the  Church      361 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  Divine  Appointment  of  Jesus      365 

His  Divinity 368 

Miracles:   their  A  Priori  Possibility  or  Impossibility   .    .    .  371 

The  Value  attributed  to  them  in  the  New  Testament,  379 

Their  Value  in  Themselves 381 

The  Question  as  to  the  Actual  Occurrence  of  the  New 

Testament  Miracles 387 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

The  Use  of  the  Name  "Christ" 391 

The  Question  whether  Jesus  himself  claimed  the  Title 

of  Messiah 395 

The  Use  of  the  Names  "Christian"  and  "Christianity"  .    .  395 

The  Acceptance  of  the  Leadership  of  Jesus 397 

Free  Religion 401 

The  Relation  of  other  Religions  to  Christianity 403 

The  "Quale"  of  Christianity 404 

The  Fifth  Definition  of  Religion 408 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Revelation. — Revelation  as  Inspiration 409 

Revelation  in  Nature 421 


XIV  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

PAGE 

Faith. — Faith  a  Form  of  Belief 428 

Its  Postulate  of  God  and  Immortality 430 

Helps  to  Faith 431 

Difficulties  in  the  Way  of  Faith 434 

The  Summum  Bonum      438 

Providence  as  the  Object  of  Faith 440 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

The  Individual  in  relation  to  Sin  and  Atonement    ....  446 

Repentance 446 

Forgiveness 448 

Regeneration 455 

Prayer 460 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

Immortality 465 

The  Argument  from  Reappearance 466 

The  Argument  from  Analogy 468 

The  Argument  from  Physico-Psychological  Phenomena  469 

The  Argument  from  the  Unity  of  Consciousness   .    .    .  470 

The  Philosophico-Teleological  Argument 473 

The  Ethical  Argument 476 

The  Argument  from  the  Sense  of  the  Ideal 478 

The  Argument  from  the  Consciousness  of  God  ....  478 

The  Argument  from  Man's  Instinctive  Faith 480 

Difficulties:   Immortality  of  Animals:  Pre-Existence:  .    .    .  482 

The  Question  of  Selfishness 483 

Nature  of  the  Future  Life 486 

The  Argument  for  Religion  of  Personal  Experience  .    .    .  488 

The  Sixth  and  Final  Definition  of  Religion 489 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

The  Authority  of  the  Church 490 

Baptism 490 

Communion 491 


SYLLABUS. 

This  syllabus,  furnished  to  students  in  later  years,  covered  the  first 
and  third  courses  in  Dr.  Everett's  theological  instruction.  The  part 
numbered  from  1  to  23  corresponds  to  the  first  course,  the  substance  of 
which  was  published  in  1902  under  the  title,  The  Psychological  Elements 
of  Religious  Faith.  It  has  been  thought  best  to  print  the  syllabus  here 
entire,  with  page  references  to  the  two  volumes. 

FIRST  GENERAL  DIVISION. 

ABSTRACT    AND    IDEAL. 

The  Psychological 
Elements  of  Relig- 
ious Faith. 

PAGE 

1.  Introduction 1 

2.  Methods  in  Theology j 

3.  Essential  Elements  of  Religion 13 

4.  Primacy  of  Feeling 20 

5.  First  Definition  of  Religion 51 

6.  Historical  and  Critical ,  "] 

7.  The  position  of  Schleiermacher ^   52 

8.  Spencer's  Reconciliation  of  Science  and  Religion J 

9.  Positive  Statement 86 

10.  Second  Definition  of  Religion 88 

11.  Analysis  of  Definition 89 

12.  Two  Aspects  of  Supernatural 93 

13.  1.  Negative 97 

14.  2.  Positive 108 

15.  Induction  of  Concrete  Religious  Feelings  with  Table  *    .    .    .    . 

16.  Practical    Development  of    Religion  by  the  Obiectification  of 

,     .      .  .  S 

tacts  ot  consciousness 

17.  Relation  of  these  to  Ideas  of  Reason  shown  by  analysis     .    .    .  j 

*This  table  is  not  reproduced  in  the  published  volume. 


XVI  SYLLABUS 

PAGE 

18.  Free  Religious  Feelings 132 

19.  Relation  of  these  to  Ideas  of  Reason 133 

20.  First  Idea  of  Reason 150 

21.  Second  Idea  of  Reason 170 

22.  Third  Idea  of  Reason 196 

23.  Third  Definition  of  Religion 208 

Theism . 

24.  Are  more  positive  and  definite  results  possible  ? 1 

25.  Historical  and  Critical 


2 
The  ''Unknowable"  of  Herbert  Spencer 

27.  Positive  Statement 9 

28.  The  use  of  Vorstellungen 10 

29.  Ideas  of  Reason  as  guides 17 

30.  First  Idea  of  Reason. 

31.  In  Time  =  Eternity 18 

32.  In  Space  =  Immensity       26 

33.  Ideal  Unity  =  Omniscience 48 

34.  Dynamic  Unity  =  Omnipotence 53 

35.  Fourth  Definition  of  Religion 55 

36.  Second  Idea  of  Reason 56 

37.  Third  Idea  of  Reason 60 

38.  [Relation  of  results  reached  to  real  Being.     This   examina- 

tion takes  form  in:] 

39.  The  First  Argument:— A  Priori 70 

40.  Historical  and  Critical 71 

41.  Positive  Statement 83 

42.  SECOND   GENERAL  DIVISION. 
THE   MOMENT    OF   NEGATION. 

43.  I.     In  relation  to  the  First  Idea  of  the  Reason. 

44.  a.  Creation 105 

45.  The  Second  Argument: — A  Posteriori 143 

46.  b.  Freedom 210 

47.  II.     In  relation  to  the  Second  Idea  of  the  Reason. 

Sin 239 

48.  III.     In  relation  to  the  Third  Idea  of  the  Reason. 

Evil 273 


SYLLABUS  XVI 1 

PAGE 

49.  Transition  to  Third  General  Division 285 

50.  a.  Punishment 

51.  b.  Sacrifice 

52.  THIRD  GENERAL  DP7ISION. 

RECONCILIATION. 


■} 


Historical  and  Critical 

53.  The  Trinity     .    . 

54.  The  I ?icar nation 

55.  The  Atonement j 

56.  Positive  Statement: — 

57.  Christianity  the  absolute  Religion 334 

[Embodying  the  Three  Ideas  of  the  Reason,  etc.] 

58.  The  Person  and  Work  of  Christ      353 

59.  Fifth  Definition  of  Religion 408 

60.  The  Inner  Life  of  Christianity. 

61.  A.  General. 

62.  Inspiration  and  Revelation 

l-409 


} 


63.  Doctrine  of  the  Holy  Spirit 

64.  B.  In  the  life  of  the  Individual. 

65.  Faith 428 

66.  Repentance 446 

67.  Forgiveness 448 

68.  Regeneration 455 

69.  Prayer 460 

70.  Immortality 465 

71.  The  Third  Argument:  That  from  Personal  Experience    ....  489 

72.  Sixth  Definition  of  Religion 489 

73.  Outer  Form  of  Christianity 


The  Church  and  its  rites 


THEISM  AND   THE   CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AGNOSTICISM. — THE    UNKNOWABLE    OF    HERBERT    SPENCER. 

In  the  examination  of  the  psychological  elements  of  religious 
faith  which  has  already  been  made1  religion  was  first  defined  as 
essentially  feeling.  To  this  was  added  in  a  second  definition 
that  it  is  feeling  toward  the  supernatural.  Both  of  these  definitions 
were  inclusive,  covering  all  forms  of  religion.  A  third  definition, 
however,  was  then  reached,  no  longer  absolutely  inclusive  but 
typical,  that  religion  is  a  feeling  toward  a  supernatural 

PRESENCE  MANIFESTING  ITSELF  IN  TRUTH,  GOODNESS  AND  BEAUTY. 

Although  the  term  "supernatural"  is  in  itself  negative,2  it  was 
found  that  a  positive  content  could  be  given  to  it  in  the  three  ideas 
of  the  reason.  The  recognition  of  this  content,  the  perception 
that  there  is  a  presence  which  manifests  itself  in  truth  and  good- 
ness and  beauty,  makes  possible  a  religion  in  which  there  is  place 
for  both  obedience  and  worship.  This  third  definition,  therefore, 
offers  the  basis  for  a  religion  of  a  high  order  and  one  in  which 
certain  natures  can  rest  satisfied.  There  are  other  natures,  how- 
ever, which  require  something  further.  They  ask  for  a  more  in- 
timate relation  with  the  object  of  worship  and  trust.     Is  it  possible 

1  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religions  Faith  (The  Macniillan  Company, 
New  York,  1902),  the  substance  of  a  course  of  lectures  by  Dr.  Everett  introductory 
to  the  lectures  on  Theism. 

2  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  93. 


2  AGNOSTICISM 

to  meet  their  demand  and  to  substitute  for  the  word  "  supernat- 
ural "  in  this  definition  the  word  "  spiritual "  ? 

It  is  evident  that  if  we  attempt  to  take  this  further  step  we  must 
face  at  once  the  position  popularly  known  as  agnosticism.  We 
meet  it  in  two  forms.  Of  these  one  is  based  on  a  posteriori,  the 
other  on  a  priori  considerations,  or,  from  another  point  of  view, 
there  is  on  the  one  hand  the  agnosticism  resulting  from  the  in- 
adequacy of  our  means  of  knowledge,  and  on  the  other  hand  that 
which  results  from  the  nature  of  the  object  as  in  itself  unknow- 
able. For  example,  we  do  not  know  whether  the  planet  Mars  is 
inhabited  because  as  yet  we  lack  the  proper  instruments  to  enable 
us  to  find  out.  Or  again,  the  number  of  the  grains  of  sand  on 
the  seashore  is  unknowable  because  the  process  of  counting  is 
too  delicate  and  intricate  to  be  carried  through.  In  neither  of 
these  two  cases  is  the  object  unknowable  in  itself,  but  only  because 
the  means  at  our  command  for  attaining  to  knowledge  are  in- 
sufficient. On  the  other  hand  the  length  of  eternity,  or  the  extent 
of  space,  cannot  be  known,  because  of  the  very  nature  of  the 
thing  itself.  Agnosticism  of  this  kind,  it  should  be  observed,  is 
a  sign  not  of  weakness  or  limitation  in  human  reason  but  of 
strength.  To  know  that  no  one  can  tell  what  are  the  limits  of  eter- 
nity or  space  because  such  limits  do  not  exist,  is  not  ignorance  but 
knowledge.  Agnosticism  in  regard  to  the  Absolute  is  of  this 
latter  kind.  It  is  based  upon  a  priori  considerations.  The 
Absolute,  being  what  it  is,  cannot  be  known.  But  here  is  the 
very  contradiction  which  has  just  been  suggested.  To  affirm 
that  the  Absolute  is  unknowable  is  to  show  that  strictly  speaking 
it  is  not  unknowable;  we  know  enough  about  it  to  know  that  it 
is  unknowable.  The  term  "unknowable"  may  be  true  in  a 
rhetorical  sense,  but  it  cannot  be  used  scientifically.  The  words 
"agnostic"  and  "agnosticism,"  as  used  by  Huxley,  express  simply 
the  attitude  of  one  who  lacks  the  evidence  which  would  enable 
him  either  to  affirm  or  to  deny.1  The  Unknowable  of  Herbert 
Spencer  expresses  the  a  priori  impossibility  of  attaining  to  knowl- 

i  Thomas  H.  Huxley,  Collected  Essays,  Vol.  V,  p.  192.    Also  Life  and  Letters, 
Vol.  I,  p.  233,  Vol.  II,  p.  235. 


THE    UNKNOWABLE    OF    SPENCER  3 

edge  of  the  Absolute.  The  use  which  Huxley  makes  of  his  terms 
is  scientific.  Spencer's  term  can  be  used  properly  only  in  a 
rhetorical  sense.  When  we  say  that  the  Absolute  is  unknowable, 
what  we  really  mean,  speaking  accurately,  is  that  in  many  of  its 
aspects  it  is  unknowable. 

Although  Spencer  assumes  that  the  Absolute  is  unknowable,  he 
maintains,  nevertheless,  that  we  must  believe  in  it.1  We  cannot, 
he  says,  "get  rid  of  the  consciousness  of  an  actuality  lying  behind 
appearances."  But  what  is  meant  by  the  consciousness  of  a  thing  ? 
I  am  conscious  only  of  that  of  which  I  have  had  some  experience. 
I  can  believe  only  to  the  extent  to  which  I  am  able  to  conceive. 
Suppose,  for  instance,  that  I  hear  a  noise  in  the  next  room.  It 
excites  in  me  a  belief  that  something,  perhaps  somebody,  is  moving 
there, — what  or  who,  I  cannot  say.  At  first  thought  it  might  seem 
that  in  such  a  case  my  belief  went  beyond  my  knowledge.  But 
what  is  it  that  I  believe  ?  That  there  is  something  there.  What 
is  my  concept  ?  That  it  is  situated  thus  or  so.  The  concept  is 
very  vague,  but  so  is  the  belief.  The  belief  does  not  go  beyond 
the  concept.  Or  take  an  example  of  a  different  kind.  Suppose 
you  had  never  heard  the  word  "  boomerang,"  and  some  one  uses  it. 
It  is  the  name  of  something.  Do  you  know  anything  about  it  ? 
If  not,  what  reason  have  you  for  believing  in  it  ?  You  answer 
that  you  do  not  know  about  it  yourself,  but  So-and-so  does.  Then 
you  believe  only  this  in  regard  to  it,  that  it  enters  into  the  knowl- 
edge of  So-and-so.  But  perhaps  you  say  that  it  is  a  man  who  has 
travelled  in  Australia  who  knows  about  it.  Then  you  conceive 
of  it  as  in  Australia.  You  are  told  further  that  it  is  a  weapon, 
and  your  concept  becomes  clearer.  Then  you  are  told  that  it 
changes  its  course  and  that  it  is  shaped  so  that  it  shall  change 
its  course.  Here  your  concept  will  probably  rest.  Has  your 
belief  at  any  point  gone  beyond  your  concept  ?  Belief  does  not 
precede  knowledge,  because  it  does  not  extend  beyond  knowledge; 
our  belief  can  go  no  further  than  our  understanding. 

In  saying  this,  however,  we  have  to  guard  against  the  confusion 
that  arises  if  we  take  the  term  "understanding"  as  implying  full 

i  First  Principles,  4th  ed.,  1880,  Chap.  IV,  §  26. 


4  THE    UNKNOWABLE    OF    SPENCER 

understanding.  Our  proposition  is  not  what  a  man  means  when 
he  says,  "I  will  believe  nothing  that  I  cannot  understand."  He 
means  that  he  will  believe  nothing  which  he  cannot  understand 
completely.  But  this  would  imply  no  belief  at  all,  for  there  is 
nothing  which  you  can  completely  understand.  We  have  to 
distinguish  here  between  a  vague  thought  and  an  incomplete  or 
abstract  thought.  All  our  concepts  are  more  or  less  incomplete, 
but  to  the  extent  to  which  they  are  complete  they  are  clear  and 
real.  When  I  look  at  a  distant  wood  I  see  in  one  sense  nothing 
but  the  leaves.  In  another  sense  I  do  not  see  the  leaves  at  all. 
Yet  my  vision,  in  so  far  as  it  is  vision,  is  real  and  clear. 

As  knowledge  increases,  however,  the  sense  of  mystery  deepens. 
All  that  we  know  of  any  object  at  a  given  moment  is  the  intro- 
duction of  that  object  to  a  new  set  of  relations  not  before  asso- 
ciated with  it.  Darkness  comes  with  the  glimmering  of  light. 
So  with  knowledge  comes  the  sense  of  ignorance.  The  two  are 
bound  together  inseparably  so  far  as  any  object  is  concerned 
which  presents  itself  to  us.  If  we  let  a  represent  what  is  known 
and  x  what  is  unknown,  then  all  objects  are  presented  to  us  in 
terms  of  ax.  No  a  can  exist  by  itself,  but  every  a  can  be  seen 
only  as  ax.  If  we  knew  everything,  x  would  disappear;  but  as 
wre  move  from  knowledge  to  knowledge,  the  x  increases  more  rap- 
idly than  the  a,  not  necessarily  in  the  form  of  absolute  ignorance, 
but  in  our  sense  of  ignorance,  our  recognition  of  what  is  still  un- 
known. We  need  not  feel  mortification  because  our  sense  of 
mystery  grows  in  this  way  as  our  knowledge  increases.  When, 
as  appears  to  happen  in  the  case  of  many  persons,  knowledge 
takes  away  the  sense  of  mystery,  we  find  usually  that  the  knowl- 
edge in  such  cases  has  been  only  superficially  grasped.  Whenever 
we  think  deeply  and  exhaustively,  we  come  upon  the  field  of  the 
mysterious,  and  as  we  try  to  communicate  what  we  know,  it  is  as 
though  our  knowledge  were  some  little  island  in  the  vast  sea  of 
the  unknown.  Science  is  born  of  wonder,  says  Aristotle,  and 
Hegel  replies  that  wonder  is  born  of  science.  Yet  while  it  is  true 
that  there  is  no  a  without  an  x,  we  must  also  recognize  as  dis- 
tinctly that   there  is  no   x  without  an   a,   no   sense   of  mystery 


THE    UNKNOWABLE    OF   SPENCER  5 

without  some  knowledge.  Mystery  is  simply  the  other  side  of 
knowledge. 

What  is  it,  however,  more  precisely,  that  Spencer  means  by  the 
Unknowable,  and  what  is  the  process  by  which  he  reaches  his 
thought  of  it  ?  Spencer's  Unknowable  is  Absolute  Being,  the 
Substance  of  Spinoza,  the  Being  of  Hegel.  He  reaches  the  thought 
of  it  through  a  process  of  repeated  abstractions.  Beginning  with 
that  which  is  concrete,  and  then  withdrawing  the  limits  and  con- 
ditions from  concept  after  concept,  he  arrives  finally  at  "a  con- 
sciousness of  something  unconditioned,"  "  not  the  abstract  of  any 
one  group  of  thoughts,  ideas  or  conceptions,"  but  "the  abstract 
of  all  thoughts,  ideas  or  conceptions,"  "that  which  is  common  to 
them  all."1  Since  any  concept  implies  limitation,  it  follows  that 
the  Absolute,  if  thus  unconditioned,  cannot  be  conceived  but  is 
unknowable. 

It  is  true,  as  Spencer  assumes,  that  there  is  no  thought  without 
limitation.  But  is  he  right  when  he  says  of  the  Absolute  that  it 
is  without  limitation  ?  Is  it,  as  he  says,  unclassified,  unrelated, 
and  unconditioned  ?  It  is  unclassified,  Spencer  says,  because  it 
stands  alone.  We  might  reply  that  one  may  constitute  a  class, 
but  this  would  be  superficial  and  would  not  cover  the  case.  Every 
thought  contains  two  elements,  a  positive  and  a  negative,  that 
which  is  more  specific  or  individual  and  that  which  is  more 
general  or  universal.  Our  knowledge  of  any  object  is  obtained  as 
we  contrast  it  with  something  else,  or  as  we  bring  it  into  some  class 
larger  than  itself.  Therefore  if  the  Absolute  cannot  be  thus 
contrasted  or  differentiated,  it  is  unknowable. 

The  Absolute,  however,  is  absolute  being.  Spencer,  to  be  sure, 
speaks  of  it  as  "existence,"  but  in  so  doing  he  uses  the  term  care- 
lessly. For  existence  implies  that  that  of  which  it  is  used  stands 
out  from  something  else.  It  is  the  finite  which  exists;  the  Abso- 
lute is.  Now  absolute  being  is  differentiated  in  two  directions. 
In  the  first  place,  being  is  a  common  term  in  absolute  being  and 
finite  being,  and  we  have  at  once  a  classification  which  includes 
both.     Secondly,  when  1  affirm  being  I  exclude  non-being,  and 

1  First  Principles,  p.  98. 


6  THE    UNKNOWABLE    OF    SPENCER 

both  non-being  and  being,  whether  absolute  being  or  finite  being, 
are  thus  differentiated,  and  the  ultimate  term  must  be,  not  abso- 
lute being,  as  Spencer  with  Hamilton  assumes,  but  a  term  which 
shall  include  both  what  is  and  what  is  not,  both  being  and  non- 
being.  This  highest  universal  has  no  name,  and  since  it  cannot 
be  carried  up  into  a  higher  generalization  it  is  beyond  conception. 
What  Spencer  has  assumed  in  regard  to  absolute  being  is  true, 
not  of  absolute  being,  but  of  this  highest  universal.  In  the  process 
of  abstraction  Spencer  and  Hamilton  simply  reached  the  conclu- 
sion, the  ultimate  term  in  the  series,  too  soon.  Absolute  being 
is  not  the  final  term,  but  can  be  taken  up  into  a  higher  class. 
Therefore  the  Absolute  is  not  unclassified,  and  in  so  far  is  not 
unknowable.  It  is  indeed  the  most  abstract  term  which  we  use, 
but  because  it  is  abstract  it  is  not  therefore  vague.  Our  thought 
of  absolute  being  is  no  more  vague  than  any  other  thought,  but 
only  more  abstract. 

Is  the  Absolute  unrelated  ?  In  discussing  this  question  Spencer 
falls  into  a  verbal  difficulty.  He  speaks  of  the  relative  and  the 
non-relative  as  terms  of  a  correlation.1  But  if  the  non-relative 
is  a  term  in  a  correlation,  how  can  it  be  called  a  non-relative  ? 
Spencer  speaks  of  the  Absolute  as  manifesting  itself  in  the  universe 
and  conversely  of  the  universe  as  a  manifestation  of  the  Absolute. 
But  the  universe  cannot  be  a  manifestation  of  the  Absolute  except 
as  its  forms  are  related  to  the  Absolute,  and  if  they  are  related  to 
it,  then  in  turn  it  must  be  related  to  them.  If  there  is  a  relation 
of  the  finite  to  the  infinite,  there  must  be  as  well  a  relation  of  the 
infinite  to  the  finite.  There  cannot  be  relation  without  correlation. 
Thus  in  point  of  fact  the  Absolute  is  related  to  everything  that  is. 
Instead  of  being  unrelated,  nothing  can  be  more  related. 

Finally,  is  Spencer's  Absolute  unconditioned,  and  for  that 
reason  unknowable?  Anything  may  be  conditioned  or  uncon- 
ditioned either  externally  or  internally.  It  is  unconditioned  ex- 
ternally when  there  is  no  restraint  or  limitation  from  without. 
In  this  sense  the  Absolute  is  unconditioned,  for  it  is  not  dependent 
upon  anything  outside  itself.     Internally,  however,  the  absolutely 

1  First  Principles,  p.  91. 


THE    UNKNOWABLE    OF   SPENCER  7 

unconditioned  is  by  the  very  nature  of  things  impossible,  for 
every  form  of  being  is  conditioned  by  what  it  is;  it  is  what  it  is 
and  nothing  else.  The  x\bsolute  is  thus  conditioned  internally, 
if  only  as  being.  But,  furthermore,  nothing  can  be  without  being 
something.  A  thing  is  only  in  and  through  its  qualities  and  re- 
lations. If  you  take  these  away  there  is  nothing  left;  the  Ding- 
an-sich  is  an  unreality.  Here,  for  instance,  is  the  substance  which 
we  know  under  various  forms  as  water  or  ice  or  vapor.  We  may 
call  it  the  absolute  of  water  and  ice  and  vapor;  it  is  not  any  one  of 
them,  although  it  manifests  itself  in  one  or  another  of  them  in- 
differently according  to  varying  conditions.  Are  we  to  say  that 
we  cannot  know  it  ?  On  the  contrary,  we  do  know  it  as  that 
substance  whose  nature  it  is  thus  to  manifest  itself.  In  the  same 
way  the  Absolute  of  Spencer  is  that  which  manifests  itself  in  the 
universe.  Although  it  is  neither  matter  nor  spirit,  it  manifests 
itself  in  both.  The  whole  universe  is  its  manifestation.  Sepa- 
rate it  from  the  universe  and  it  would  cease  to  be.  Spencer  him- 
self allows  it  no  freedom  in  this  respect.  In  proportion,  therefore, 
as  we  know  the  universe  we  know  the  Absolute,  and,  since  the 
Absolute  exhausts  itself  in  the  universe,  if  we  could  arrive  at  com- 
plete knowledge  of  the  universe  we  should  also  have  complete 
knowledge  of  the  Absolute.  Spencer's  Absolute  is  thus  in  itself 
most  knowable.  If  we  fail  to  know  it,  the  difficulty  arises  from 
the  limitation  of  our  own  powers  and  not  from  anything  in  the 
nature  of  the  Absolute  itself. 

In  criticising  Spencer's  position  we  must  not  forget  the  great 
service  which  he  has  rendered  in  popularizing  the  recognition  of 
the  unknown  in  matter  and  force,  and  in  showing  that  they  are 
not  to  be  fully  comprehended,  as  is  so  commonly  assumed  by 
superficial  thinkers.  Spencer's  difficulty  lies  in  his  failure  to  see 
that,  while  it  is  true  that  no  knowledge  is  complete,  it  is  equally 
true  that  there  is  nothing  of  which  we  have  absolutely  no  knowl- 
edge. He  confounds  the  abstract  with  the  vague  and  unknow- 
able. Hegel  also  takes  the  position  that  pure  being  is  indistin- 
guishable from  non-being  and  so  absolutely  unknowable,  but  with 
Hegel  this  is  only  the  first  step  in  an  argument  by  which  he  shows 


8  THE   UNKNOWABLE    OF   SPENCER 

that  the  Absolute  is  the  infinitely  concrete,  manifesting  itself  in 
and  through  all  things,  and  thus  infinitely  knowable.  It  is  to 
be  observed  also  that  when  Spencer  arrives  at  the  thought  of  the 
principle  of  unity  in  his  Absolute,  he  leaps  a  chasm  which  he 
has  not  bridged.  The  thought  is  true,  but  how  has  he  reached  it  ? 
The  only  process  which  he  recognizes  is  that  of  repeated  abstrac- 
tion; but  this  would  lead,  not  to  the  principle  of  unity,  but  either 
to  manifold  being  or  to  an  abstract  universal. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  VORSTELLUNG. —  THE  ANALOGY  BETWEEN  THE  SUPERNAT- 
URAL ELEMENT  IN  THE  UNIVERSE  AND  THE  PRINCIPLE 
OF  UNITY  IN  HUMAN  LIFE. — THE  THREE  IDEAS  OF  THE 
REASON  AS  GUIDES  IN  FINDING  A  PHILOSOPHIC  BASIS  FOR 
THE  TERM  "SPIRITUAL"  AS  APPLIED  TO  THE  ABSOLUTE. 

We  are  in  a  position  now  to  ask  once  more  the  question  with 
which  we  began :  Can  the  supernatural  be  conceived  as  spiritual  ? 
Does  the  Absolute,  the  principle  of  unity  in  the  universe,  stand 
in  relation  to  itself  as  well  as  to  the  universe?  Does  it  merely 
pass  out  and  out  through  its  manifestations  infinitely,  and  so  lose 
itself  wholly  in  the  universe  ?  Or  does  it  find  itself  in  the  uni- 
verse ?     In  other  words,  is  it  conscious  ? 

We  have  recognized  the  incompleteness  of  all  knowledge.  It 
is  impossible  to  know  perfectly  the  simplest  aspect  of  nature.  Not 
only  is  there  much  of  which  we  are  entirely  ignorant,  but  such 
knowledge  as  we  have  is  often  coarse;  we  see  things  in  wrong 
relations.  As  we  stand  under  the  arches  of  a  cathedral  they 
take  their  form  according  to  the  position  from  which  we  see  them. 
In  a  similar  way,  in  every  partial  view  of  the  universe,  where  we 
have  failed  to  get  at  the  centre  of  things,  the  arcs  of  the  circles 
of  our  vision  do  not  fit  into  the  true  circles.  Any  concept,  there- 
fore, which  we  may  form  will  be  inadequate.  Is  an  inadequate 
concept,  then,  worth  anything?  It  is  easy  to  say  No,  and  yet 
common  sense  tells  us  that  if  we  can  form  no  perfect  concept,  an 
imperfect  concept  is  better  than  nothing.  We  cannot  picture  to 
ourselves  the  whole  ocean,  but  the  concept  of  it  which  we  have 
is  certainly  worth  something.  Furthermore,  such  concepts,  how- 
ever imperfect,  are  the  forms  under  which  we  represent  to  our- 
selves the  truth.     A  definite  term  for  representation  of  this  kind 


10  THE    VORSTELLUNG 

has  been  found  in  the  word  "  Vorstellung."  1  It  has  no  exact 
equivalent  in  English.  The  word  "Idea"  has  been  substituted, 
and  is  good  so  long  as  it  is  used  only  in  the  popular  sense  in  which 
we  say,  "I  have  no  idea  of  it."  But  common  usage  employs  it 
in  so  many  senses  besides,  and  among  them  as  the  translation  of 
Hegel's  "Idee,"  that  it  is  difficult  to  avoid  confusion.  The  word 
"Representation"  is  also  used,  but  this  again  is  inadequate,  for 
it  implies  a  more  objective  background  than  "Vorstellung"  and 
has  not  the  more  limited  and  technical  significance  which  attaches 
to  the  German  word.  "Symbol"  has  been  suggested,  but  al- 
though we  do  use  the  symbol  as  a  means  of  representation,  it 
is  only  as  the  representation  is  contrasted  with  the  object 
represented  and  consciously  compared  with  it.  The  Vorstellung, 
on  the  other  hand,  does  not  imply  a  comparison;  although 
it  is  a  representation,  it  may  be,  and  sometimes  is  admitted 
to  be,  finally  true.  The  two  words,  therefore,  are  not  syn- 
onymous. 

As  regards  the  place  and  value  of  the  vorstellung  theologians 
have  differed.  According  to  Hegel  all  religious  truth  presents 
itself  first  in  the  form  of  a  vorstellung;  but  whereas  the  vorstellung 
itself  is  finite,  its  content,  the  truth  for  which  it  stands,  is  infinite, 
and  this  infinite  content  is  constantly  breaking  through  the  finite 
form  of  the  vorstellung,  as  new  conceptions  of  the  content  lead 
to  readjustments  of  the  form  in  which  it  is  presented.  Thus 
the  history  of  religion  is  that  of  the  formation  and  shattering  of 
vorstellung  after  vorstellung,  all  finite,  but  each  in  turn  more  in- 
clusive and  adequate  than  that  which  has  preceded  it.  The 
Christian  religion,  according  to  Hegel,  is  still  only  a  vorstellung, 
although  the  grandest  and  most  beautiful  of  all.  Schleiermacher 
recognizes  with  Hegel  the  importance  of  the  vorstellung  as  a  half- 
way house.  To  Hegel,  however,  nothing  is  beyond  the  possible 
range  of  thought,  and  each  vorstellung  simply  marks  one  stage  in 
the  advance  toward  truth,  whereas  to  Schleiermacher  the  Absolute 

i  Hegel,  Werke,  Berlin,  1832,  Vol.  XI,  pp.  79,  215.  Biedermann,  Christliche 
Dogmatil;  Vol.  I,  p.  121.  Lipsius,  Evangelische  Protestant ische  Dogmatik;  p.  68. 
Park,  Theology  oj  Head  and  Heart,  Bibliolheca  Sacra,  Vol.  VH,  p.  533. 


THE    VORSTELLUNG  11 

is  unknowable,  and  the  vorstellung  is  all  that  we  can  have.  Bie- 
dermann  makes  the  vorstellung  the  mean  between  abstract  thought 
and  conception.  According  to  Pfleiderer  it  hovers  between  the 
spiritual  content  of  religion  and  the  corporeality  of  its  form.  Ac- 
cording to  Lipsius  all  religious  thought  moves  in  sensuous  figures, 
the  language  of  religious  dogma  never  ceasing  to  express  itself 
under  the  form  of  the  vorstellung.  Professor  Park  made  a  dis- 
tinction between  the  theology  of  the  intellect  and  the  theology  of 
the  heart  which  aroused  much  discussion  at  the  time.  He  himself 
did  not  give  to  the  theory  which  he  advanced  its  full  sweep,  but 
it  was  a  theory  the  application  of  which  might  vary  according  to 
the  person  who  made  use  of  it,  and  many  felt  that  it  imperilled 
everything  that  had  been  considered  fixed  in  religious  thought  and 
opened  the  door  to  all  sorts  of  skepticism. 

When  we  come  to  the  practical  application  of  the  theory  of  the 
vorstellung,  we  find  that  four  results  are  possible.  First,  the 
recognition  that  all  expressions  of  religious  truth  are  inadequate 
may  lead  to  catholicity  of  feeling  toward  the  various  forms  of 
religious  belief  and  worship;  an  element  of  truth  is  seen  in  all 
these  forms,  and  a  certain  relation  and  sympathy  between  them; 
all  are  imperfect  and  yet  all  are  attempts  at  the  expression  of 
truth.  This  view  is  more  and  more  commonly  taken,  and  to  a 
certain  extent  it  indicates  a  healthful  spiritual  attitude.  But  it 
may  be  carried  to  an  extreme  if  one  assumes  that  because  all 
forms  of  expression  are  imperfect  all  are  therefore  of  equal  value. 
It  is  with  religious  forms  and  beliefs  as  with  names.  We  may 
say  that  abstractly  all  names  are  artificial  and  that  therefore  one 
name  is  as  good  as  another.  Yet  when  names  connote  as  well 
as  denote,  we  cannot  use  them  indifferently.  We  may  say  with 
Pope  "  Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord,"  *  but  we  have  to  recognize  that 
the  name  "  Jove,"  for  instance,  is  entangled  with  superstitions  and 
the  forms  of  a  comparatively  low  mythology,  and  that  such  a 
name  for  God  is  not  so  good  as  one  that  has  higher  associations. 
Catholicity  is  rightly  interpreted  when  we  mean  by  it  an  attitude 
of  sympathy  toward  all  forms    of   belief   and  worship,  but   the 

1  The  Universal  Prayer. 


12  THE   VORSTELLUNG 

so-called  catholicity  which  merges  all  forms  and  reduces  all   to 
the  same  level  is  untrue. 

In  the  second  use  of  the  vorstellung  a  change  of  emphasis  leads 
from  the  same  premises  as  before  to  precisely  the  opposite  con- 
clusion, and  instead  of  catholicity  there  is  skepticism.  In  the 
first  use  the  emphasis  was  upon  the  content,  and  since  all  forms 
contained  some  element  of  truth  all  were  therefore  to  be  accepted. 
In  this  second,  negative,  use  it  is  the  form  that  is  emphasized, 
and  since  all  forms  are  found  to  be  similarly  remote  from  absolute 
truth,  all  are  rejected  as  equally  false,  and  with  the  rejection  of 
the  form  the  content  also  is  lost.  A  good  illustration  of  the  re- 
sult that  follows  when  a  form  is  thus  broken  up,  before  its  con- 
tent has  been  thoroughly  apprehended,  is  seen  in  the  passage 
from  Catholicism  to  unbelief  which  many  people  in  Italy  have 
experienced  during  recent  years.  All  the  religious  thought  and 
feeling  of  these  people  had  been  associated  with  a  single  form 
of  religious  observance,  and  the  loss  of  faith  in  this  particular 
form  carried  with  it  all  belief  in  any  religion  at  all.  There  is  this 
advantage,  perhaps,  in  the  variety  of  creeds  in  our  own  country, 
that  when  one  form  of  observance  no  longer  satisfies  the  wor- 
shipper some  other  form  is  at  hand  which  may  meet  his  need, 
and  he  is  less  likely  to  identify  all  religious  belief  with  any  one 
of  the  forms  in  which  it  finds  expression.  Under  any  circumstances, 
however,  it  is  dangerous  to  approach  too  violently  forms  which 
are  seen  to  be  incomplete  or  even  untrue.  The  wisdom  of  Jesus 
appears  nowhere  more  clearly  than  in  his  teaching  in  this  regard.1 

In  the  third  use  of  the  vorstellung  a  distinction  is  made  between 
the  demands  of  the  intellect  and  those  of  the  heart.  The  intellect 
pronounces  the  vorstellung  false,  but  the  heart  requires  it  and 
therefore  is  bidden  to  use  it.  This  use  of  the  vorstellung  is  com- 
mon with  some  of  the  German  theologians.  Thus  the  expression, 
"infinite  personality,"  is  held  to  be  a  contradiction  in  terms  so 
far  as  definite  truth  is  concerned,  and  yet  liberty  is  given  to  speak 
of  God  as  personal.2     This  position,  however,  is  most  perilous. 

i  Matthew,  xiii,  24-30. 

2  Biedermann,  Christliche  Dogmatik,  Vol.  II,  pp.  538-544. 


THE    VORSTELLUNG  13 

It  introduces  into  religion  an  element  of  dishonesty,  and  those  who 
uphold  it  forget  that  the  heart  is  above  all  sincere  and  cannot 
be  trifled  with.  The  passion  for  truth  is  in  itself  an  emotion,  and 
of  the  heart;  it  is  the  method  of  seeking  truth  which  is  of  the 
intellect.  Furthermore,  the  head  and  the  heart  cannot  rest  in 
such  divergence;  either  the  vorstellung  will  become  less  vivid 
as  the  intellect  asserts  itself,  or  the  heart  will  be  victorious  and 
declare  its  intuitions  more  trustworthy  than  the  reasoning  of  the 
intellect. 

What  forms,  then,  and  what  uses  of  the  vorstellung  are  justi- 
fiable and  helpful  ?  All,  we  may  answer,  in  which  the  vorstellung 
is  recognized  as  partially  true  and  as  representing  truth  which 
may  be  more  and  more  nearly  approached.  This  will  include 
both  those  forms  and  uses  to  which  we  are  driven  by  the  intellect 
itself,  and  also  all  those  which  spring  from  the  needs  of  the  heart 
as  adding  force  and  warmth  to  the  intellectual  statement  or  in 
which  the  intellect  accepts  the  longings  of  the  heart  as  suggestions 
of  truth.  Limited  as  we  are,  we  recognize  that  our  knowledge 
is  incomplete  as  regards  even  the  common  objects  and  relations 
of  life,  and  that  much  less  can  we  expect  to  attain  to  complete 
truth  in  regard  to  supersensuous  objects  of  thought.  It  is  as  Jesus 
said  to  Nicodemus,  "If  I  have  told  you  earthly  things  and  ye 
believe  not,  how  shall  ye  believe  if  I  tell  you  of  heavenly  things  ? " 1 
Yet  the  use  of  such  terms  as  we  have  is  necessary  and  helpful. 
However  imperfect  they  may  be  as  compared  with  ultimate  terms, 
we  know  that  we  approach  nearer  to  the  truth  by  using  them. 

In  the  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table  Dr.  Holmes  suggests 
how  when  two  persons  are  talking  together,  John  and  Thomas, 
at  least  six  personalities  may  be  recognized  as  taking  part  in  the 
conversation;  there  is  the  real  John,  he  says,  who  is  known  only 
to  his  Maker,  and  there  is  John's  ideal  John,  and  there  is  Thomas's 
ideal  John,  and  then  there  are  similarly  the  real  Thomas  and 
Thomas's  ideal  Thomas  and  John's  ideal  Thomas.  We  might 
go  farther  than  this  and  say  that  there  are  as  many  Johns  and 
Thomases  as  there  are  persons  with  whom  John  and  Thomas 

1  John,  iii,  12. 


14  THE   VORSTELLUNG 

come  into  relation,  and  although  all  the  ideas  of  John  and  Thomas, 
except  the  view  of  Omniscience,  are  imperfect,  yet  all  contain 
some  truth.  The  love  of  the  child  toward  its  father  is  different 
from  that  of  the  father  toward  the  child.  The  child  says, 
"Father,"  without  at  all  realizing  the  full  content  of  the  name. 
Yet  the  child's  love  is  nearer  the  truth  than  indifference  would 
be  on  the  ground  that  the  child  could  have  no  adequate  knowl- 
edge of  the  father's  nature.  As  we  go  out  of  some  cavern  into 
the  daylight  the  first  twilight  is  not  yet  the  full  light  of  day,  but 
it  is  better  than  the  darkness  of  the  cavern. 

Take,  for  instance,  that  expression  "infinite  personality"  to 
which  I  have  just  referred.  It  is  said  to  be  a  contradiction  in 
terms.1  Suppose,  however,  that  we  should  discover  that  we  can- 
not conceive  of  the  Absolute  apart  from  personality,  and  cannot 
think  of  personality  adequately  unless  we  think  of  it  as  infinite.2 
Then  the  relation  between  intellect  and  heart  would  be  no  longer 
one  of  opposition  but  one  of  entire  harmony,  the  intellect  arriving 
at  the  result  which  is  demanded  by  the  heart.  If  the  expression 
"infinite  personality"  should  then  fail  to  represent  the  truth,  it 
would  fail  only  in  so  far  as  it  was  inadequate,  and  not  because 
it  involved  contradiction.  It  would  be  at  least  a  step  in  the 
direction  of  the  truth.  Have  you  ever  seen  the  ocean  ?  Can 
you  tell  how  it  differs  from  a  lake?  You  say  that  its  vastness 
differentiates  it.  But  you  have  not  seen  its  vastness,  and  yet  you 
know  that  you  have  seen  the  ocean;  you  have  seen  it  imperfectly, 
and  your  knowledge  of  it  is  imperfect,  but  your  concept  although 
incomplete  is  not  untrue.     So  it  is  with  the  thought  of  God. 

This  position  is  quite  different  from  the  extreme  catholicity 
which  assumes  that  one  form  of  representation  is  as  good  as  an- 
other. The  position  here  taken  assumes  that  one  form  of  repre- 
sentation comes  nearer  to  the  truth  than  another,  and  we  have 
to  ask  by  what  process  we  are  to  arrive  at  the  form  that  shall 
be  most  nearly  adequate.  We  can  proceed  only  from  analogy. 
It  was  by  analogy,  however,  that  men  came  to  experience  religious 

i  John  Fiske,  Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  Vol.  II,  p.  408. 
2  Pages  41^7. 


THE   ANALOGY   IN    HUMAN    LIFE  15 

feeling  in  the  first  place,  the  savage  assuming  that  the  nature 
which  he  found  manifested  in  the  universe  was  a  nature  more  or 
less  similar  to  his  own,  and  in  making  analogy  our  starting  point 
we  are  on  the  beaten  track  of  all  religious  thought.  Philosophy, 
too,  has  trusted  much  to  analogy.  Thus  Schopenhauer,  early 
in  his  treatise  on  The  World  As  Will  and  Idea,  uses  the  double 
knowledge  that  each  of  us  has  of  the  nature  and  activity  of  his 
own  body  as  a  key  to  the  nature  of  all  phenomena,  and  assumes 
that  as  in  one  aspect  these  phenomena  are  idea  like  our  bodies, 
and  in  this  respect  are  analogous  to  them,  so  in  another  aspect 
that  which  remains  of  objects  apart  from  their  existence  as 
phenomena  must  in  its  inner  nature  be  the  same  as  that  in  our- 
selves which  we  call  will.1  This  is  not  induction  but  analogy. 
The  reasoning  is  from  one  case  to  innumerable  cases.  We  are 
given  not  proof  but  suggestion.  It  is  as  though  our  mind  were 
a  mirror  upon  which  the  world  about  us  is  reflected. 

What  help,  then,  will  analogy  furnish  here  ?  According  to  the 
third  definition  which  we  have  reached,  religion  is  a  feeling  toward 
a  supernatural  presence  manifesting  itself  in  truth,  goodness  and 
beauty.  By  "nature"  we  mean  the  universe  as  a  composite 
whole,  and  by  "supernatural"  the  non-composite  unity  in  and 
through  which  this  composite  whole  exists;  the  supernatural  is 
not  a  disturbing  influence  apart  from  and  over  against  the  natural, 
but  the  absolute  unity  which  manifests  itself  in  and  through  the 
diversity  of  nature.2  Is  any  analogy  to  be  found  for  this  super- 
natural element  in  the  universe  as  contrasted  with  the  natural  ? 
We  find  in  man  something  that  is  similar.  There  is  in  man  a 
non-composite  somewhat  just  as  there  is  a  non-composite  some- 
what in  the  universe,  a  unity  in  his  life  upon  which  all  the  various 
manifestations  of  that  life  depend.  This  principle  of  unity, 
this  supernatural  element,  so  to  speak,  in  the  life  of  the  individual 
man,  we  call  his  "spirit."  Can  the  same  term  be  applied  to  the 
supernatural   element   in   the   universe  ?     Both    in    the    universe 

1  Translation  of  Haldane  and  Kemp,  Vol.  I,  pp.  128-137. 

2  C.  C.  Everett,  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  pp.  89-92. 


16  THE    ANALOGY   IN    HUMAN    LIFE 

and  in  the  individual  man  there  is  a  non-composite  unity,  in  each 
preserving  itself  similarly  through  all  the  changes  of  the  com- 
posite nature  through  which  it  is  manifested.  If  the  term  "  spirit " 
is  applied  to  the  non-composite  unity  in  the  life  of  the  individual 
man,  can  it  not  be  applied  to  the  non-composite  unity  in  nature  ? 

Before  we  answer  we  must  ask  whether  the  result  of  this 
analogy  could  be  accepted  critically.  What  effect,  for  instance, 
would  it  have  upon  our  second  definition  of  religion,  that  religion 
is  a  feeling  toward  the  supernatural  ? *  If  there  is  a  supernatural 
presence  in  the  individual  man,  why  is  not  our  feeling  toward 
others  and  toward  ourselves  religion  ?  The  difficulty  thus  sug- 
gested, however,  is  not  serious.  In  the  first  place,  the  super- 
natural element  in  men  is  not  often  recognized  either  by  them- 
selves or  by  others.  We  live  outside  ourselves,  seeing  what  is 
composite  in  life,  measuring  life  by  the  abundance  of  the  things 
which  we  possess.  Furthermore,  when  we  do  recognize  the  unity 
in  ourselves  and  in  others,  the  feeling  which  is  aroused  is  akin 
to  religion.  The  admiration  of  the  hero  passes  easily  into  hero 
worship,  exalted  friendship  mingles  reverence  with  love,  and 
whenever  the  possible  sacredness  of  our  own  lives  is  felt,  when 
the  conscience  utters  protest,  when  some  lofty  soul  in  a  depraved 
age  gives  voice  to  the  spirit  of  righteousness,  the  recognition 
afforded  to  such  manifestations  of  the  spiritual  life  is  closely  allied 
with  religious  feeling.  Thirdly,  we  perceive  the  vast  difference 
between  the  conception  of  the  infinite  presence  which  manifests 
itself  in  the  universe  and  the  spirit  which  gives  unity  to  the  life 
of  the  individual.  We  see  how  infinitely  more  dependent  we  are 
upon  the  unity  of  the  universe,  and  that  considered  absolutely 
there  is  only  one  supernatural  presence  of  which  all  lesser  unities 
are  manifestations.  This  analogy,  therefore,  does  not  stand  in 
the  way  of  our  definition  of  religion  but  rather  helps  to  confirm  it. 

Analogy,  however,  serves  only  as  a  starting-point.  Can  we  go 
further?  Is  there  any  philosophic  basis  for  the  use  of  the  term 
"  spiritual "  as  applied  to  the  Absolute  ?  Our  third  definition  of 
religion  suggests  an  answer.    According  to  this  definition  the  super- 

i  The  Psy etiological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chap.  VII. 


THE   IDEAS    OF   THE    REASON   AS   GUIDES  17 

natural  presence  manifests  itself  in  the  three  ideas  of  the  reason, 
truth,  goodness  and  beauty,1  and  in  our  attempt  to  reach  a  more 
positive  result  we  may  use  these  as  guides.  It  is  a  method  which 
has  not  been  followed  generally  by  students  of  philosophy.  They 
have  oftener  been  content  to  begin  as  it  were  at  second  hand  and 
to  take  much  for  granted  in  their  premises.  With  the  philoso- 
phers, however,  this  method  has  been  a  favorite  one,  and  almost 
all  of  them  have  begun  by  taking  as  a  foundation  one  or  another 
of  the  three  ideas.  Thus  Plato  found  in  the  idea  of  beauty  the 
animating  principle  of  his  philosophy,  Spinoza  built  up  his 
entire  system  upon  the  absolute  unity,  and  Kant  swept  aside  the 
system  of  Spinoza  and  based  religious  belief  upon  goodness  alone, 
the  postulate  of  the  moral  law.  Spinoza  and  Kant  try  each  to  ex- 
clude from  their  systems  everything  but  the  single  principle  which 
they  have  adopted,  but  with  both  of  them  other  elements  creep 
in  unobserved.  Spinoza  cannot  escape  the  harmony  that  results 
from  the  moral  sense,  and  Kant  implicitly  assumes  results  that 
are  not  allowed  by  his  negations.  We  shall  profit  by  the  authority 
of  all  these  profound  thinkers  in  so  far  as  their  contributions  are 
positive,  but  we  shall  use  as  our  guides,  not  one  or  another  of  the 
ideas  of  the  reason,  but  all  three,  as  all  fundamental  and  essen- 
tial to  religion. 

i  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chap.  IX. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE     FIRST     IDEA    OF    THE     REASON     MANIFESTED     AS     UNITY     IN 
TIME,    OR    ETERNITY. 

Beginning,  then,  with  the  first  idea  of  the  reason,  truth  or  unity,1 
we  find  that  there  are  four  forms  in  which  it  manifests  itself.  It 
appears  as  unity  in  time,  eternity;  as  unity  in  space,  omnipresence 
or  immensity;  as  unity  in  essence  or  being,  ideal  unity  or  om- 
niscience;  and  as  dynamic  unity  or  unity  in  force,  omnipotence. 

Before  we  go  further,  it  is  well  to  distinguish  between  two  kinds 
of  theological  thought  which  differ  from  each  other  not  as  methods 
but  as  habits  of  mind,  the  so-called  theology  of  common  sense 
and  the  theology  called  mystical.  The  distinction  between  them 
is  not  complete;  there  is  no  profound  religion  without  the  mystical 
sense,  and  the  more  mystical  faith  must  find  limits  within  the  un- 
derstanding; but  in  general  common- sense  theology  emphasizes 
what  is  known,  the  a  in  the  ax  of  religious  faith,2  and  mystical 
theology  emphasizes  x,  the  unknown.  We  see  examples  of  com- 
mon-sense theology  in  Socinianism  and  the  kindred  schools  of 
religious  thought,  while  mystical  theology  has  been  more  promi- 
nent in  the  so-called  orthodox  belief  of  Christianity,  meaning  by 
orthodox  that  which  on  the  whole  has  been  accepted  by  the  Church 
in  the  course  of  its  history. 

The  distinction  between  these  two  habits  of  thought  appears 
at  once  when  we  begin  to  examine  the  different  views  that  are 
held  in  regard  to  unity  in  time,  eternity.  According  to  common- 
sense  theology  eternity  is  endless  time,  and  the  Eternal  Being  is 
one  who  has  existed  without  beginning  or  end.  This  view  assumes 
the  reality  of  time.  There  is  here  an  element  of  sublimity,  for 
that  struggle  between  the  imagination  and  the  reason  is  involved 

i  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chap.  X. 
2  Page  4. 


UNITY   IN   TIME,   OR    ETERNITY  19 

which  Kant  holds  to  be  the  essence  of  the  sublime.  Yet  Hegel, 
to  whom  nothing  physical  suggests  sublimity,  regards  such  an 
eternity  as  one  of  the  lowest  forms  of  infinitude,  "die  schlechte 
Unendlichkeit,"  and  finds  it  wearisome,  "langweilig."1  Mystical 
theology  regards  eternity  not  as  the  prolongation  of  time  but 
as  its  absolute  antithesis.  According  to  this  view  time  has  in 
itself  no  reality  but  belongs  to  the  world  of  phenomena,  and 
eternity  is  a  timeless  condition  without  change.  Between  these 
two  views  there  is  an  intermediate  popular  view  which  regards 
both  time  and  eternity  as  real,  eternity  beginning  as  time  comes 
to  an  end,  and  the  life  of  the  individual  passing  from  time  into 
eternity  at  death.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  misinterpretations  of 
passages  in  the  Bible  have  given  rise  to  much  that  is  most  pict- 
uresque in  theology.  The  misinterpretations  have  been  cor- 
rected, but  the  results  still  remain.  This  popular  view  of  time 
and  eternity  has  found  special  confirmation  in  the  passage  from 
The  Revelation  where  the  angel  who  stands  "upon  the  sea  and 
upon  the  earth  "  is  made  to  declare,  according  to  the  King  James 
version,  "that  there  should  be  time  no  longer."2  These  words 
have  been  understood  popularly  as  meaning  that  there  should  be 
an  end  of  time  and  that  eternity  should  begin,  whereas  their  true 
interpretation  is  that  there  should  be  no  more  time,  that  is,  no 
more  delay. 

Objectively  considered,  time  is  the  most  mysterious  thing  with 
which  we  have  to  do.  Hegel  brings  out  this  element  of  mystery 
in  the  striking  definition  that  he  gives  in  his  Natur-Philosophie.3 
"Time,"  he  says,  "is  that  form  of  being  which,  in  so  far  as  it  is, 
is  not,  and  in  so  far  as  it  is  not,  is."  That  is,  time  in  its  very  essence 
consists  in  flux,  and  any  form  of  being  that  is  permanent  is  not 
time.  We  assume  that  a  circle  is  composed  of  an  infinite  number 
of  infinitesimal  straight  lines,  but  we  may  not  in  a  similar  way 
assume  that  time  is  made  up  of  minute  points  of  duration,  for 
time  is  simply  succession,  or  rather  the  abstract  of  succession. 

i  Werke,  Berlin,  1840,  Vol.  VI,  p.  184.     The  Logic  of  Hegel,  trans,  by  W. 
Wallace,  pp.  149,  168. 

2  Revelation,  x,  5-6.  3  Werke,  Berlin,  1842,  Vol.  Vila,  §  258. 


20  UNITY    IN   TIME,  OR    ETERNITY 

Some  writers  have  thought  of  eternity  as  excluding  succession. 
If  they  exclude  succession,  they  exclude  that  which  makes  time 
what  it  is.  Eternity,  then,  must  be  a  positive  something  which  is 
the  antithesis  of  time.  Kant  sets  this  forth  in  the  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason.1  To  him  time  has  no  reality,  but  is  simply  phenomenal. 
Reality  is  timeless.  Just  as  space  is  the  form  of  our  external  per- 
ception, Kant  argues,  so  time  is  the  form  of  our  internal  percep- 
tion. Therefore  time  is  a  form  of  thought.  But  we  cannot  think 
without  thought,  and  therefore  we  cannot  reach  the  conception 
of  timelessness  any  more  than  a  bird  can  fly  out  of  the  atmosphere. 
To  reach  the  conception  of  timelessness  we  should  have  to  enter 
into  a  world  as  distinct  from  thought  as  the  world  of  internal  per- 
ception is  distinct  from  the  world  of  outward  perception.  Thus 
the  difficulty  in  conceiving  of  eternity,  if  we  assume  that  it  excludes 
succession,  is  fundamental.  We  may  make  the  positive  statement 
that  eternity  is  the  antithesis  of  time,  and  we  may  believe  it,  but 
that  is  as  far  as  we  can  go  in  this  direction. 

Nor  do  we  make  further  progress  by  the  aid  of  definitions  such 
as  that  which  Hodge  gives  when  he  states  that  "  eternity  is  infinite 
duration"  and  "time  is  limited  duration"  and  quotes  the  school- 
men's punctum  stems,  "an  ever  abiding  present."2  For  the  term 
"  duration "  is  meaningless  apart  from  the  thought  of  time,  and 
there  can  be  no  present  which  does  not  imply  a  past  and  a  future. 
When  Hodge  says  that  eternity  is  infinite  duration  and  that  time  is 
limited  duration,  he  evidently  uses  duration  in  the  sense  of  time, 
and  his  definition,  therefore,  is  confused.  It  is  no  more  helpful 
than  that  definition  of  Quenstedt's  in  which  eternity  is  stated  to 
be,  not  duration  without  beginning  or  end,  but  "simple  inter- 
minableness."3  Spinoza  avoids  this  difficulty  of  defining  eternity 
without  the  use  of  temporal  terms  by  describing  eternal  being  as 
that  which  exists  from  the  necessity  of  its  own  being.4  This 
definition,  however,  is  quite  out  of  the  line  of  our  present  examina- 

i  Trans,  by  F.  Max  Miiller,  Vol.  II,  pp.  27-36. 

2  Outlines  of  Theology,  p.  109.  3  Theologica,  p.  311. 

*  Opera,  ed.  Bruder,  Vol.  I,  p.  111. 


UNITY    IN    TIME,   OR    ETERNITY  21 

tion.  Schleiermacher  comes  nearer  to  what  we  have  in  mind 
when  he  defines  eternity  as  "  that  timeless  causality  of  God  which 
conditions  all  that  is  in  time  and  time  itself."1  This  definition 
of  Schleiermacher's  is  better  than  Spinoza's  in  that  it  recognizes 
a  relation  for  absolute  being,  whereas  Spinoza  considers  the 
nature  of  absolute  being  rather  than  any  relation  in  which  it 
stands.  But  Schleiermacher's  definition  does  not  conform  to  the 
conditions  of  our  problem;  it  gives  us  no  conception  of  eternity. 
In  any  discussion  as  to  whether  time  is  real  or  phenomenal 
we  must  of  course  recognize  the  relativity  of  time.  We  can 
measure  time  only  by  the  difference  in  rapidity  between  one  move- 
ment or  succession  and  another,  as  for  instance  the  difference 
between  the  movement  of  the  hands  of  a  clock  and  the  move- 
ment of  the  sun.  If  all  the  successions  in  the  universe  were  to 
increase  or  decrease  in  rapidity  simultaneously,  it  is  easily  con- 
ceivable that  we  should  not  perceive  the  change.  Everyone  has 
noticed,  also,  in  the  common  experience  of  every-day  life,  what 
a  difference  there  is  between  what  may  be  called  real  time,  that  is 
time  as  measured  by  some  standard,  and  apparent  time.  Ap- 
parent time  lengthens  or  shortens  according  to  one's  mood.  Thus 
expectancy  lengthens  time,  and  "the  watched  kettle  never  boils." 
Grief  or  pain  tends  also  to  lengthen  time,  and  joy  to  shorten  it. 
If  heaven  is  absolute  blessedness,  then  we  may  conceive  of  heaven 
as  eternity  in  a  moment,  and  hell  would  be  a  condition  of  absolute 
suffering  in  which  every  moment  would  equal  an  eternity.  Con- 
templation is  to  large  extent  a  lost  art  in  these  days.  When  we 
think,  we  think  about  something,  and  we  pass  from  one  object 
of  thought  to  another.  But  the  Hindu  practised  a  contemplation 
in  which  the  succession  of  thought  ceased  and  all  sense  of  time 
was  lost.  You  may  recall  the  legend  of  the  monk  who  had  not 
believed  in  eternity  but  who  saw  one  night  in  prayer  the  beatific 
vision  and  when  it  passed  found  that  years  had  gone  by  in  what 
had  seemed  a  moment.  The  ability  to  forecast  the  future,  also, 
in  so  far  as  we  admit  that  such  ability  exists,  offers  another  illus- 
tration of  the  relativity  of  time.     I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  the 

i  Werke,  Abth.  I.,  Vol.  Ill,  §  52. 


22  UNITY   IN   TIME,  OR    ETERNITY 

reflective  prophecy  which  declares  what  outcome  is  reasonably  to 
be  expected  from  present  conditions  and  tendencies,  but  that 
clairvoyance  in  which  future  events  are  seen  as  though  they  were 
already  taking  place.  Here,  however,  the  facts  that  are  presented 
to  us  are  open  to  question. 

Recognizing,  then,  the  relativity  of  time,  shall  we  say  that  time 
is  phenomenal  and  eternity  the  antithesis  of  time,  or  shall  we  say 
that  time  is  real  and  eternity  the  endless  duration  of  time  ?  The 
more  profound  philosophers  have  considered  time  phenomenal 
and  eternity  the  antithesis  of  time,  but  the  question  is  one  that 
cannot  be  definitely  settled;  it  does  not  admit  of  either  proof  or 
disproof.  Furthermore,  it  is  a  question  which,  as  students  of  re- 
ligion, we  are  not  obliged  to  try  to  decide.  For  it  is  a  metaphysical 
problem,  interesting  to  philosophical  thought,  but  without  any 
important  bearing  upon  religious  questions.  There  is  involved, 
however,  a  truth  which  is  often  overlooked, — that  phenomena 
are  as  real  as  anything  else.  Only  when  the  phenomenon  is  re- 
garded as  representing  something  other  than  itself  does  contra- 
diction arise.  Phenomena  as  phenomena  are  real.  In  Buddhistic 
nihilism  everything  is  resolved  into  a  dream,  and  dream  and 
dreamer  are  held  to  be  alike  unreal.  But  a  dream  as  dream  is 
real.  Granted  that  we  dream,  there  must  be  at  last  the  ultimate 
dream  of  that  which  we  have  dreamed.  In  a  similar  way,  if  we 
agree  with  Kant  and  others  that  time  is  phenomenal,  we  have  still 
to  do  with  time  as  a  reality.  Besides,  if  there  is  a  unity  in  the 
world,  this  unity  must  embrace  phenomena  as  well  as  all  that 
we  commonly  regard  as  more  real  than  phenomena.  To  a  pas- 
senger on  a  swiftly  moving  train  the  various  objects  in  the  land- 
scape appear  to  pass  in  quick  succession.  Another  person  on  a 
hilltop  sees  the  same  landscape  stationary.  Now,  if  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  person  on  the  hilltop  is  to  be  complete,  he  must  also 
have  experience  of  the  landscape  as  it  appears  to  the  passenger 
on  the  train.  So  absolute  being  must  be  related  to  time  as  well 
as  to  space,  and  must  preserve  itself  through  the  phenomena  of 
time. 

How  are  we  to  conceive  of  such  a  unity  in  and  through  time  ? 


UNITY   IN   TIME,   OR   ETERNITY  23 

If  we  say  that  only  the  changeless  endures,  what  do  we  mean  by 
"  changeless  "  ?  What  is  identity  ?  When  are  we  to  say  that  one 
thine  is  like  another,  and  when  are  we  to  say  that  it  is  the  same 
as  another?  Identity  of  function  we  recognize  easily.  The  legs 
of  a  table  have  each  the  same  function  in  supporting  the  table. 
But  here  the  element  of  time  does  not  enter.  In  certain  cases  of 
functional  identity  we  may  indeed  try  to  add  the  element  of  time. 
We  mav  say,  for  instance,  that  the  meal  which  we  eat  today  has 
the  same  function  in  supporting  the  body  as  the  meal  that  was 
eaten  yesterday.  However,  this  question  of  functional  identity 
need  not  detain  us.  It  has  been  said  that  two  things  are  identical 
which  are  indistinguishable.  But  this  is  unsatisfactory.  We 
cannot  distinguish  one  point  in  space  from  another,  but  if  points 
in  space  because  they  are  indistinguishable  were  therefore  identi- 
cal, all  space  would  shrink  to  a  single  point.  We  speak  of  having 
the  same  thought  today  that  we  had  yesterday,  or  the  same  head- 
ache, but  in  reality  it  is  only  a  similar  headache  or  a  similar  thought. 
Again,  it  may  be  said  that  anything  retains  identity  which  has 
had  a  history  between  the  different  moments  at  which  it  has  been 
presented  to  our  consciousness.  This,  however,  is  merely  formal. 
A  river  from  moment  to  moment  has  a  history,  but  the  river  is 
always  changing,  and  any  change  whatever  in  an  object  destroys 
its  identity.  A  boy  speaks  of  his  jack-knife  as  the  same  knife  al- 
though blades  and  handle  may  all  have  been  renewed.  But  sup- 
pose that  the  boy  lends  his  knife  and  that  it  is  returned  to  him 
nicked  or  tarnished.  "This  is  not  the  knife  I  lent  you,"  he  de- 
clares, and  strictly  speaking  it  is  not. 

Practically,  however,  we  may  say  that  a  thing  is  the  same  if 
whatever  is  essential  to  it  remains  unchanged.  An  extreme 
application  of  this  practical  view  is  found  in  the  case  at  law  in 
which  the  title  to  certain  property  is  in  question.  So  long  as  the 
house  remains  a  certain  person  is  to  own  the  land.  "  Let  the 
chimney  stand,"  argues  the  lawyer,  "  and  the  house  stands."  Sup- 
pose, however,  a  series,  a,b,c,d, z,  to  represent  all  the  qual- 
ities that  make  an  object  what  it  is.  Then  if  we  omit  a  single 
letter  there  is  a  change  in  the  series,  and  the  object  is  no  longer 


24  UNITY   IN   TIME,  OR   ETERNITY 

the  same.  The  change  in  it  is  real,  and  the  amount  of  the  change 
does  not  matter.  It  may  be  said  that  if  the  bulk  of  anything  re- 
mains the  same,  the  object  is  the  same.  But  a  broken  watch, 
even  though  all  the  pieces  are  there,  is  by  no  means  the  same  as 
when  it  was  whole;  the  materials  of  a  building  are  not  the  same 
as  the  finished  structure.  In  a  word,  whatever  is  composed  is 
subject  to  change.  How  is  it,  then,  with  the  atoms?  Do  they, 
perhaps,  remain  the  same,  and  are  the  changes  that  we  see  only 
the  varying  combinations  of  the  atoms  ?  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  an  atom  in  rapid  motion  the  same  as  when  it  was  moving  slowly  ? 
Are  the  atoms  in  one  form  of  chemical  compound  the  same  as  in 
another  ?  If  we  raise  a  to  various  powers,  a2,  a3,  a4,  it  is  not  the 
same  a  that  enters  into  these  various  combinations.  For  a  as  such 
is  left  behind  at  the  beginning;  a  becomes  a2,  and  it  is  a2  and  not 
o  that  becomes  a3,  and  so  on,  and  if  we  are  to  find  a  once  more  we 
have  to  reverse  the  process.1 

Then  are  we  to  accept  the  theory  of  absolute  flux?  Shall  we 
say  with  Heraclitus  that  no  one  has  ever  bathed  twice  in  the  same 
river,  or  with  Buddha  that  no  man  lives  two  moments  in  the 
same  universe  ?  Absolute  identity  requires  that  both  form  and 
material  shall  remain  the  same,  but  in  everything  both  form  and 
material  are  all  the  time  changing.  We  seem  therefore  to  lose  the 
possibility  of  identity. 

But  how  is  it  that  we  reach  this  consciousness  of  change  ?  Flux 
cannot  be  recognized  except  as  there  is  something  permanent  by 
which  the  flux  may  be  measured,  some  power  by  which  past  and 
present  may  be  brought  together  so  that  they  can  be  compared. 
We  find  this  only  in  conscious  spirit.  Therefore  only  a  conscious 
being  can  preserve  identity.  It  is  true  that  like  everything  else 
conscious  spirit  changes.  But  it  endures  through  change.  It 
does  not  leave  the  past  behind,  but  through  memory  takes  it  up 
into  itself,  it  carries  a  forward  into  a2.  Through  remembrance 
and  through  personal  recognition  the  conscious  being  knows  him- 
self in  the  past  and  in  the  present,  and  thus  we  find  the  enduring 

i  Lotze's  Meiaphysic,  translation  edited  by  Bosanquet,  p.  51.     B.  P.  Bowne, 
Metaphysics,  Part  I,  Chap.  HI. 


UNITY   IN   TIME,  OR    ETERNITY  25 

not  in  that  which  denies  change  or  is  opposed  to  change,  but  in 
that  which  has  the  power  to  preserve  itself  in  and  through  change. 
Locke  recognizes  the  truth  of  this,1  holding  that  even  if  the  sub- 
stance changes  every  moment,  memory  would  constitute  identity. 
Lotze  also  presents2  with  great  clearness  this  conclusion  drawn 
from  the  recognition  of  the  past  in  the  present.  So  also  Professor 
Bowne.3 

No  doubt  there  are  certain  difficulties  that  must  be  recognized. 
Shall  we  say  that  the  continuance  of  personal  identity  is  to  be 
measured  by  the  power  of  memory  and  personal  recognition  ? 
What  gaps  sleep  and  unconsciousness  would  leave!  How  imper- 
fect is  our  endurance  through  the  changes  which  we  experience! 
How  much  of  our  thought  of  yesterday  has  gone  from  us !  How 
we  meet  men  whom  we  once  knew  and  fail  to  recognize  them! 
How  we  look  back  upon  our  childhood  and  ask  ourselves  whether 
we  did  certain  things  or  whether  it  was  some  one  else  who  did  them ! 
Do  we  remember  what  we  did,  or  has  some  one  else  remembered, 
and  told  us  of  them  ?  When,  however,  we  conceive  of  infinite 
spirit,  these  difficulties  no  longer  exist.  In  the  identity  of  absolute 
consciousness  there  can  be  no  gaps  or  breaks.  The  imperfect 
endurance  of  the  individual  through  change  is  due  to  the  incom- 
pleteness of  his  knowledge.  As  the  knowledge  is  increased  there 
is  a  corresponding  gain  in  the  endurance.  The  skilful  chess- 
player feels  no  surprise  in  the  moves  made  by  his  opponent,  for 
in  his  knowledge  of  the  game  he  has  anticipated  them  from  the 
beginning.  So  Grant,  it  is  said,  at  the  battle  of  the  Wilderness, 
when  told  that  a  wing  of  his  army  had  given  way,  replied,  "  I 
don't  believe  it,"  and  the  event  proved  that  he  was  right.  Now  in 
the  case  of  infinite  spirit  we  conceive  of  a  consciousness  to  which 
all  knowledge  is  open,  and  in  whose  unity  past  and  future  alike 
are  taken  up  absolutely  into  the  present. 

1  Essay  concerning  Human  Understanding,  Book  II,  Chap.  XXVII. 

2  Microcosmos,  trans,  by  Hamilton  and  Jones,  Book  II,  Chap.  I. 

3  Metaphysics,  Part  I,  Chap.  Ill,  and  Part  III,  Chap.  I. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     FIRST      IDEA    OF     THE     REASON     MANIFESTED     AS     UNITY    IN 
SPACE,   OR    OMNIPRESENCE. 

We  have  considered  up  to  this  point  the  first  of  the  four  forms 
in  which  the  first  idea  of  the  reason  is  manifested,  and  we  have 
found  that  in  so  far  as  the  supernatural  presence  toward  which 
our  feeling  is  directed  is  regarded  as  manifesting  itself  in  unity 
in  time,  it  must  be  regarded  as  a  conscious,  spiritual  presence. 
We  pass  now  to  the  consideration  of  the  second  of  the  four  forms 
in  which  truth  or  unity  is  manifested,  namely,  unity  in  space,  or 
omnipresence.  Here  there  is  a  difficulty  at  the  outset,  in  that  we 
have  no  word  to  express  our  meaning  which  does  not  imply  rela- 
tion to  space.  Eternity,  as  we  have  seen,  does  not  necessarily 
mean  endless  time;  it  may  be  conceived  of  as  polar  to  time.  But 
omnipresence  is  not  polar  to  space  but  has  a  distinct  relation  to 
space;  it  is  presence  in  space.  The  term  "immensity"  has  been 
used;  but  this  also  is  a  term  which  we  commonly  apply  in  space 
relations,  as  when  we  speak  of  something  which  is  very  large,  in 
space  and  not  outside  of  space;  when  we  use  the  term  apart  from 
space  relations  it  is  of  something  which  does  not  come  within  the 
category  of  measurement,  as  when  we  say  that  the  soul  is  immense 
or  immeasurable. 

The  idea  of  omnipresence  like  that  of  eternity  comes  somewhat 
late  in  the  history  of  theological  thought.  In  the  earlier  forms  of 
religion  the  need  of  the  attribute  of  omnipresence  was  not  felt, 
for  though  no  one  god  was  omnipresent  divinity  was  everywhere; 
fetichism  conceived  of  divinity  as  in  or  behind  everything,  poly- 
theism provided  in  every  place  some  divinity  or  genius  loci;  the 
only  hint  of  a  need  appears  in  some  complaint  that  the  gods  are 
absent.  With  the  development  toward  monotheism,  however, 
the  need  of  omnipresence  as  an  attribute  of  divinity  is  felt  increas- 


UNITY   IN   SPACE,  OR  OMNIPRESENCE  27 

in<dy.  The  deistic  conception  of  a  universe  in  which  all  divinity 
is  gathered  up  in  one  being,  separate  and  remote  from  the  world, 
is  to  many  minds  repellent,  and  rather  than  accept  such  a  world 
out  of  which  the  thought  of  a  present  divinity  has  been  taken, 
they  cry  out  with  Wordsworth  to 

"Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea; 
Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn."1 

At  first  an  attempt  is  made  to  meet  the  difficulty  by  assuming  an 
omnipresence  through  knowledge.  The  divinity  is  not  every- 
where but  knows  everything.  Sometimes  he  sits  upon  a  throne 
in  the  centre  of  the  universe  from  which  he  can  look  out  over  all, 
sometimes  he  is  given  countless  messengers,  sometimes,  like 
Varuna  in  the  Vedic  hymn,  he  has  a  thousand  eyes.  Even  Chris- 
tian monotheism  has  held  this  conception  of  a  constructive,  prac- 
tical omnipresence,  using  the  term  in  regard  to  the  godhead  in 
much  the  same  sense  as  that  in  which  we  speak  of  the  omnipres- 
ence of  an  earthly  king.  It  is  the  view  of  the  so-called  common- 
sense  theology.  Thus,  according  to  Socinus,  deity  has  its  place 
from  which  it  rules  the  universe.  So  also  in  the  case  of  the  four 
kinds  of  omnipresence  which  Hodge  and  others  of  the  older 
theologians  recognize, — omnipresence  in  essence,  in  knowledge,  in 
manifestation,  in  power, — only  the  first  is  really  omnipresence; 
the  other  three  naturally  result  from  the  first,  and,  apart  from 
it,  are  all  merely  so  many  forms  of  constructive  omnipresence. 
The  moment  we  try  to  reach  the  thought  of  real  omnipresence 
we  pass  into  the  region  of  mystical  theology.  To  any  common- 
sense  view  nothing  can  be  more  apparent  than  that  the  same 
person  cannot  occupy  two  places  at  the  same  time.  Yet  the 
most  profound  truths  often  set  at  naught  the  dictates  of  common 
sense. 

Is  there  any  symbol  by  which  we  can  represent  omnipresence  ? 
^Attempts  have  been  made  to  meet  the  difficulty  by  physical  com- 
parisons; but  the  warning  given  by  Augustine  of  the  danger  of 
trusting  to  such  comparisons  is  justified.     No  physical  illustration 

1  Wordsworth,  Miscellaneous  Sonnets.     "The  world  is  too  much  with  us." 


28  UNITY    IN    SPACE,   OR    OMNIPRESENCE 

of  this  sort  can  be  used  with  safety  except  as  we  recognize  its  in- 
adequacy. Suppose,  for  example,  we  say  that  air  is  everywhere. 
But  what  is  air  ?  Air  is  not  a  unity,  some  one  thing,  present  every- 
where, but  only  an  aggregation  of  certain  particles,  a  multiplicity. 
Similarly  there  is  no  such  thing  as  water  except  as  collective  matter. 
Light  is  a  succession  of  undulations,  each  distinct  from  all  the 
rest,  and  one  not  even  propagated  by  another.  Of  ether  we  do 
not  know  anything  except  that  it  is  manifested  in  light. 

Spencer  suggests  power  as  a  symbol.1  But  power  involves  force, 
and,  however  subtle  the  suggestion  of  omnipresence  in  the  thought 
of  force,  it  is  a  suggestion  which  carries  with  it  its  own  limitation. 
Gravitation,  for  instance,  is  a  force  not  only  unexhausted  but 
inexhaustible.  Considered,  however,  as  a  unity,  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  force  of  gravitation  any  more  than  there  is  such  a 
unity  as  air  or  water.  What  we  call  the  force  of  gravitation  is 
really  the  collection  of  numberless  forces,  every  atom  its  own 
center  of  force,  attracting  every  other  atom  and  in  turn  attracted 
bv  every  other.  The  word  "gravitation"  is  a  collective  term 
in  which  each  individual  tug,  as  it  were,  of  all  the  atoms  is  repre- 
sented. Thus  gravitation  is  not  a  unity  but  a  multiplicity,  and 
similarly  any  physical  symbol  of  unity  in  the  universe  is  necessarily 
inadequate.  Schleiermacher  avoids  the  difficulty  here  as  he 
does  in  the  case  of  eternity,  defining  omnipresence  as  the  non- 
spatial  activity  of  God  by  which  space  and  all  spatial  relations 
are  conditioned.  But  here  again  as  before  he  fails  to  conform  to 
the  conditions  of  our  problem.2 

Up  to  this  point  the  difficulty  has  followed  us  which  we  recog- 
nized at  the  outset,  that  there  is  no  serviceable  term  which  we  can 
use  to  express  unity  in  space  corresponding  with  the  term  eternity 
as  an  expression  for  unity  in  time.  The  fact,  however,  of  unity 
in  space  is  more  easily  reached  than  the  fact  of  unity  in  time.  For 
when  we  were  considering  unity  in  time  we  found  no  world  to 
which  we  could  retreat  from  time  in  order  to  view  time.     There- 

i  First  Principles,  4th  ed.,  1880,  §§  18,  50,  and  Appendix. 
2  Werke,  Abth.  I,  Band  III,  §  53. 


UNITY   IN    SPACE,   OR    OMNIPRESENCE  29 

fore  the  phenomenality  of  time  had  no  meaning  which  could  be 
made  real  to  us.  We  could  make  definitions,  but  the  definitions 
themselves  were  paralyzed.  In  our  consideration  of  unity  in 
space,  on  the  other  hand,  a  world  is  open  to  us  which  is  not  spatial, 
the  inner  world  of  mental,  spiritual  life,  and  in  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion whether  space  is  phenomenal  or  real,  psychology  teaches 
that  space  as  such  is  phenomenal,  that  it  has  no  existence  outside 
the  mind. 

There  are  two  views  in  regard  to  space  considered  as  phe- 
nomenal. The  first  is  that  of  Kant,  that  space  is  a  form  of  per- 
ception bound  up  with  mind  or  spirit  as  such,  a  part  of  that  which 
is  fundamental  in  human  nature;  antedating  all  experience,  it 
is  that  which  makes  experience  possible.1  There  are  some  writers 
who  recognize  the  essential  principle  in  Kant's  theory,  but  deny 
his  conclusion  and  affirm  that  space  is  at  the  same  time  a  form 
of  perception  and  also  something  external  to  the  mind  which 
corresponds  to  the  perception.2  This  position,  however,  is  not 
tenable.  For  whatever  is  mental  belongs  to  the  mind  alone  and 
cannot  be  associated  with  an  objective  fact.  The  heat  which 
I  feel  as  I  touch  a  kettle  of  boiling  water  is  my  sensation.  The 
kettle  itself  is  not  hot  in  the  sense  in  which  it  feels  hot  to  my 
finger,  unless  indeed  the  kettle  also  has  sensation.  Similarly  in 
any  theory  of  space  relation  there  cannot  be  something  outside 
the  mind  corresponding  to  the  mental  perception. 

According  to  the  second  view,  held  more  commonly  by  later 
writers,  the  idea  of  space  is  derived  through  a  process  of  abstraction 
from  our  various  experiences  of  extension.  We  unite  a  great 
number  of  sensations  and  project  the  result.  There  is,  of  course, 
the  difficulty  which  Kant  presents,  that  it  is  the  idea  of  space 
which  makes  possible  the  recognition  of  extension.  How,  then, 
are  we  to  derive  the  idea  of  space  from  the  experience  of  extension  ? 
Kant,  however,  is  dealing  with  consciousness  as  it  is  found  when 
fully  developed.     It  may  be  true  that  to  the  fully  developed  con- 

1  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  Trans,  by  F.  Max  Miiller,  Vol.  II,  pp.  20-26. 

2  William  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II,  Chap.  XX. 


30  UNITY    IN    SPACE,  OR    OMNIPRESENCE 

sciousness  the  relation  between  the  idea  of  space  and  the  recog- 
nition of  extension  is  that  which  Kant  discovers.  But  psycholo- 
gists do  not  begin  their  study  with  the  conditions  presented  by 
fully  developed  consciousness.  What  they  find  in  the  mature  mind 
is  the  culmination  of  processes  which  have  had  their  growth  not 
merely  from  the  infancy  of  the  individual  but  from  generations 
back.  Thus  the  phenomena  of  extension  must  have  presented 
themselves  to  the  nascent  mind  practically  long  before  they  made 
their  appeal  to  the  full  consciousness,  and  in  the  case  of  any  indi- 
vidual an  inherited  tendency  assists  from  the  first  the  conscious 
efforts  at  perception.  It  is  thus  that  the  chicken  as  it  first  pecks 
at  the  grain  of  corn  hits  it  accurately.1 

Just  how  the  process  of  abstraction,  the  coalescence  of  the 
various  sensations,  takes  place,  we  cannot  say.  We  can  only 
recognize  the  fact  that  it  does  take  place.  It  may  be  that  the 
first  measurement  of  distance  is  through  the  sense  of  expenditure 
of  force.  The  great  step,  however,  appears  to  be  in  the  develop- 
ment of  sight.  A  person  formerly  blind  whose  sight  has  been 
restored  does  not  distinguish  distances  at  first,  but  does  come  to 
distinguish  them  after  a  little  experience.  WTith  all  of  us  the  per- 
ception of  distance  is  acquired;  various  experiences  blend  with 
vision  until  we  no  longer  separate  them,  and  we  learn  to  see  the 
distance  of  an  object  just  as  we  see  the  relation  to  each  other  of 
objects  in  the  same  plane.  We  can  represent  distance  also  where 
it  does  not  really  exist.  We  look  at  a  painting  of  some  landscape; 
it  is  in  one  plane  and  without  real  distance;  but  the  appearance 
is  of  distance  and  we  seem  to  see  this  distance  as  though  it  were 
real.  In  the  case  of  a  blind  man  the  idea  of  space  may  be  con- 
veyed by  sound,  or  by  the  varying  pressure  of  the  atmosphere 
as  objects  are  nearer  or  more  remote;  absolute  space  would  then 
be  for  him  an  echoless  void  without  interruptions.  But  this  is 
of  course  only  conjecture,  for  in  the  absence  of  a  common  ter- 
minology the  blind  man  cannot  tell  us  how  he  arrives  at  space 
perception. 

The  infinity  of  space  is  something  which  every  one  recognizes. 

1  C.  Lloyd  Morgan,  Habit  and  Instinct. 


UNITY   IN    SPACE,   OR    OMNIPRESENCE  31 

No  object  is  so  distant  that  we  cannot  conceive  of  something 
beyond  it.  We  illustrate  the  infinitude  of  space  by  the  infinite 
possibilities  of  the  enumeration  table.  There  is,  of  course,  this 
difference  between  the  infinitude  of  space  and  the  infinitude  of 
the  enumeration  table,  that  the  enumeration  table  is  not  in  any 
way  associated  with  sensation.  But  just  as  there  is  no  number 
so  large  that  it  might  not  be  larger,  so  in  the  thought  of  space 
the  final  point  of  extension  cannot  be  reached.  We  have  thus  a 
definition  of  space  as  the  negative  possibility  of  indefinite  ex- 
tension. 

Kant  insists  on  the  necessity  of  the  a  priori  perception  of  space 
as  a  basis  for  the  apodictic  certainty  of  all  geometrical  principles 
and  the  possibility  of  their  construction  a  priori;  if  space  per- 
ceptions were  gained  from  experience,  he  argues,  the  first  princi- 
ples of  mathematical  definition  would  be  nothing  but  perceptions; 
the  certainty  of  geometrical  principles  is  the  result  of  their  abstract- 
ness.1  In  ordinary  life  conditions  are  all  the  time  changing,  so 
that  the  cause  which  in  one  instance  produces  a  given  result  can- 
not be  depended  upon  to  produce  the  same  results  in  a  second 
instance.  A  remedy  may  cure  one  man  of  his  disease,  but  because 
another  man  has  the  same  disease  it  does  not  follow  necessarily 
that  the  same  remedy  is  to  be  recommended.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances we  can  reach  conclusions  only  through  observation, 
overcoming  by  the  great  number  of  examples  of  a  given  class  any 
doubt  which  may  underlie  our  generalizations.  In  mathematics, 
on  the  other  hand,  all  the  concrete,  variable  elements  which  in 
ordinary  life  confuse  or  modify  our  conclusions  are  abstracted, 
and  there  is  nothing  to  interfere  with  the  relation  between  causes 
and  results. 

We  have  already  seen2  that  space  is  purely  subjective,  and 
that  any  theory  by  which  it  is  considered  to  be  both  a  form  of 
perception  and  also  something  which  corresponds  to  the  percep- 
tion is  untenable.  Yet  to  say  that  space  is  subjective  is  not  at 
all  to  say  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  external  world  which  causes 
the  idea  of  space.     Just  as  there  is  the  hot  body,  the  kettle  of 

1  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  Vol.  II,  pp.  21,  22.  2  page  29. 


32  UNITY    IN    SPACE,  OR   OMNIPRESENCE 

boiling  water,  which  causes  the  sensation  of  heat  in  my  finger,  so 
there  may  be  a  reality  in  the  external  world  which  causes  our 
perception  of  space.  But  space  as  it  is  to  our  mind  cannot  be  the 
same  in  the  external  world  any  more  than  heat  as  I  feel  it  in  my 
finger  can  exist  in  the  kettle  of  boiling  water.  Objectively  con- 
sidered, space  is  pure  objective  externality.1  It  is  externality, 
not  simply  in  relation  to  ourselves,  but  absolutely,  in  the  exclusive 
sense,  as  non-Being  is  external  to  Being.  It  is  objective,  because 
the  externality  is  that  of  the  objective  world  outside  the  world  of 
thought.  It  is  pure  because  it  is  without  content.  We  speak 
of  points  of  space,  but  points  do  not  constitute  space.  Space  is 
always  filled,  because  for  convenience  or  by  necessity  we  break 
it  up  into  points,  but  in  itself  it  must  be  thought  of  as  absolutely 
unbroken  and  uninterrupted. 

If  we  turn  now  to  the  thought  of  omnipresence  we  find  that 
our  question  in  regard  to  it  assumes  a  new  form.  We  have  ex- 
cluded the  crude  forms  under  which  it  first  appeared  to  us,  and 
do  not  need  to  conceive  it  in  terms  of  space.  Only  that  form 
of  being  can  be  omnipresent  which  can  pass  beyond  itself  and 
either  take  its  opposite  into  itself  or  find  itself  in  its  opposite. 
No  point  in  space  can  do  this,  for  every  point  excludes  all  other 
points.  Spirit  is  the  only  form  of  being  which  can  meet  the 
condition.  For  the  very  quale,  the  essential  attribute,  of  spirit 
is  unity  in  and  through  diversity.  This  unity  we  do  not  easily 
comprehend  at  first  thought.  We  live  so  habitually  in  the  ex- 
ternal world  that  all  our  formulas  are  taken  from  it,  and  we  have 
no  language  in  which  spirit  can  be  described  at  first  hand.  Yet 
there  is  nothing  which  enters  into  our  experience  so  deeply  and 
universally.  WTiat  is  it,  for  instance,  which  constitutes  self- 
consciousness  ?  There  is  an  /  and  a  me,  the  I  conscious  of  the  me, 
the  two  distinct  from  each  other  and  yet  manifestations  of  the 
same  unity.  The  /  may  indeed  be  conceived  as  greater  or  less 
than  the  me;  we  may  say  that  it  is  less  than  the  me  in  so  far  as 
the  me  has  content  while  the  /  is  without  content,  or  on  the  other 
hand  we  may  say  that  the  /  is  greater  because  it  is  the  entire  per- 

i  Hegel,  Werke,  Vol.  Vila  (Berlin,  1842),  Natur-Philosophie,  §  254. 


UNITY   IN    SPACE,   OR    OMNIPRESENCE  33 

sonality,  involving  all  the  possibilities  of  which  the  me  can  repre- 
sent at  any  moment  only  one.  Yet  fundamentally  the  two  are 
one,  the  I  recognizing  the  me  as  itself.1 

It  has  been  said  that  self-consciousness  is  a  mere  matter  of 
memory,  that  we  are  conscious  at  any  moment  not  of  what  we  are 
but  of  what  we  were,  the  subjective  and  objective  consciousness 
succeeding  each  other  so  rapidly  that  the  process  presents  a  seem- 
ing unity.  This,  however,  is  no  new  theory  of  consciousness. 
It  is  as  old  as  Hindu  philosophy,  and  in  the  Sankhyas  the  fallacy 
of  such  a  view  is  recognized  as  involving  an  infinite  regressus. 
For  if  at  any  moment  I  am  conscious  only  of  the  moment  before, 
no  basis  remains  for  consciousness,  and  I  should  never  get  hold 
of  self  at  all.  But  in  reality  the  identity  which  I  recognize  is 
that  of  the  present  and  the  past  together;  when  I  am  conscious 
of  a  pain,  it  may  have  been  the  pain  of  a  previous  moment,  but 
it  is  my  pain  and  I  associate  it  with  a  present  me. 

A  second  illustration  of  the  unity  of  spirit  in  and  through  di- 
versity, though  less  complete  and  satisfactory  than  the  illustra- 
tion which  self-consciousness  affords,  is  found  in  the  idea,  the 
union  of  manifold  manifestations  in  a  single  concept  of  the  reason. 
Neither  the  idea  nor  the  consciousness  is  a  composite  whole. 
Each  is  a  perfect  unity.  The  unity  may  be  suggested  by  the 
various  manifestations  of  the  different  elements  in  and  through 
which  it  expresses  itself,  but  it  is  nevertheless  unbroken  and  per- 
fect in  itself.  Thus  the  circle  is  a  unity  in  which  the  arcs  can 
have  no  existence  except  as  they  are  dominated  by  the  idea  of  the 
circle.  The  idea  of  the  watch  is  a  unity  perfect  in  itself  as  com- 
pared with  the  composite  whole,  the  mere  assemblage  of  all  the 
parts  of  the  watch.  Suppose  that  a  man  is  playing  billiards. 
He  strikes  a  ball  with  his  cue,  that  ball  hits  another,  and  so  on. 
The  first  ball  gives  up  the  force  which  has  propelled  it  to  the  second, 
the  second  may  transfer  the  force  in  like  manner;  each  moment 
force  is  lost  and  gained  and  broken  up  in  constant  play  and  variety. 
Is  there  any  unity  here  ?  Yes,  in  the  mind  of  the  player.  Before 
the  stroke  is  made,  he  knows  what  he  is  going  to  do,  and  he  recog- 

1  C.  C.  Everett,  Fichte's  Science  of  Knowledge,  Chap.  IV. 


34  UNITY   IN    SPACE,  OR   OMNIPRESENCE 

nizes  his  thought  in  all  the  process  which  he  starts.  The  unity 
is  thus  the  unity  of  the  idea,  the  player's  purpose,  controlling  the 
whole  movement  and  embodying  itself  in  it. 

Still  a  third  illustration  appears  in  the  relation  between  the 
life  within  and  the  life  without,  the  life  within  perceiving  in  the 
life  without  that  of  which  it  is  itself  a  manifestation,  recognizing  a 
community,  whether  in  goodness  or  in  beauty,  between  its  own 
nature  and  the  nature  outside  of  it.1  This  recognition  is  found 
in  one  form  or  another  in  all  the  more  profound  philosophies 
and  in  all  deeply  religious  natures.  There  are  natures,  it  is 
true,  which  although  deeply  religious  are  without  conscious  rec- 
ognition of  the  spiritual  unity  in  the  universe.  Yet  such  natures 
do  recognize  under  some  form  the  doctrine  of  the  holy  spirit,  the 
presence  of  a  life  within  leading  us  to  the  discovery  of  the  life 
that  is  higher  than  ours,  the  indwelling  of  the  God  in  whom  "  we 
live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being."  It  is  to  be  noticed  that  this 
mystic  consciousness  of  unity  may  pass  over  into  pantheism.  The 
absolute  is  then  conceived  as  merged  in  its  manifestation  or  vice 
versa.  We  find  still  a  spiritual  unity,  but  the  I  has  been  absorbed 
in  the  me  or  the  me  in  the  /,  and  personality  and  consciousness 
have  disappeared. 

1  C.  C.  Everett,  The  Science  of  Thought,  pp.  144,  153,  seq. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OBJECTIONS     TO     CONSCIOUS    SPIRIT     AS     A     VORSTELLUNG,     BASED 
ON   THE    ANALOGY    OF   FINITE   CONSCIOUSNESS. 

The  importance  of  the  position  which  we  have  reached  is  very 
great.  We  have  found  that  the  only  adequate  form  or  vorstellung 
under  which  we  can  represent  unity  in  the  universe  is  conscious 
spirit.  This  is  a  result  so  great  in  itself  and  in  all  that  is  implied 
that  we  might  easily  fear  to  accept  it  if  it  were  not  already  familiar 
to  us,  and  if  the  heart  had  not  already  assumed  it.  As  it  is,  many 
thinkers  do  not  accept  it,  and  we  have  to  consider  their  objections. 

These  objections  are  based  on  the  analogy  of  finite  conscious- 
ness. To  speak  of  "  infinite  personality "  or  "  infinite  conscious- 
ness," it  is  said,  is  a  contradiction  in  terms.  We  must  remember, 
however,  that  the  argument  from  analogy  is  to  be  used  with 
caution.  Analogy  may  be  empirical  or  it  may  be  rational.  I  may 
say  merely  that  I  have  never  found  a  without  the  presence  of  x, 
or  I  may  say  that  I  have  found  a  reason  why  a  should  never  be 
found  without  x.  Only  those  analogies  which  upon  analysis 
are  found  to  be  rational  are  of  any  real  worth.1  Therefore  before 
we  can  accept  an  argument  from  the  analogy  of  finite  conscious- 
ness, we  must  examine  the  analogy  to  see  whether  it  is  rational  or 
merely  empirical. 

The  general  analogy  of  finite  consciousness  presents  itself  under 
three  different  aspects,  physical,  philosophical,  and  psychological. 
Of  these  the  physical  is  least  important  but  is  often  urged.  The 
argument  is  based  on  the  physical  conditions  of  human  conscious- 
ness or  thought.  "  No  thought  without  phosphorus,"  is  its  motto. 
Now  it  is  true  that  thought  is  found  in  human  beings  only  in  con- 
nection with  phosphorus  or  some  tissue  into  which  phosphorus 
enters.     But  to  assume  that  therefore  this  relation  between  thought 

1  C.  C.  Everett,  The  Science  of  Thought,  p.  274. 


36  OBJECTIONS   TO    SPIRIT    AS    A    VORSTELLUNG 

and  material  organism  must  always  exist  and  that  there  can  be  no 
consciousness  apart  from  organic  structure,  is  to  fall  into  the  fallacy, 
post  hoc,  ergo  propter  hoc.  The  analogy  is  merely  empirical,  and 
if  it  is  pressed  at  all  it  becomes  absurd.  Thus  it  has  been  said 
that  the  brain  secretes  thought  as  the  liver  secretes  bile,  and  that 
to  speak  of  a  conscious  Infinite  is  therefore  as  impossible  as  to 
speak  of  a  bilious  Infinite.  But  in  the  secretion  of  bile  blood  has 
entered  the  liver  and  passed  out,  and  bile  remains  behind  in  the 
form  of  a  liquid,  its  molecules  separated  from  the  molecules  of  the 
blood.  Is  there  any  similarity  between  this  process  and  the  process 
by  which  thought  is  produced  ?  On  the  contrary,  every  molecule 
or  atom  that  enters  the  brain  passes  out,  unless  some  loss  takes 
place  in  the  cells  of  the  brain,  and  no  molecular  secretion  remains. 
Thought  is  not  a  molecular  result,  and  the  brain  as  a  thinking 
organ  is  not  the  same  with  the  brain  as  a  secreting  organ.1  The 
use  of  the  analogy  in  this  aspect  merely  illustrates  the  superficial 
character  of  a  certain  kind  of  popular  scientific  thought. 

In  its  second  aspect,  the  philosophical,  the  analogy  is  more  real. 
Consciousness  involves  intelligence,  and  all  human  intelligence, 
all  human  thought,  implies  limitation.  Therefore,  it  is  urged, 
no  thought  is  possible  without  limitation,  and  since  the  Absolute 
must  be  conceived  as  unconditioned,  to  attribute  to  it  thought 
or  consciousness  is  impossible.  In  the  first  place,  however,  we 
have  already  seen2  that  the  theory  that  the  Absolute  must  be 
unconditioned  is  mistaken,  and  that  an  unconditioned  Absolute 
is  not  only  inconceivable  but  impossible.  And  secondly,  all 
human  intelligence  is  finite  intelligence  and  involves  two  factors, 
consciousness  itself  and  the  finite,  human  mind  in  which  it  appears. 
Does  the  limitation  that  appears  in  human  consciousness  belong 
to  consciousness  itself,  or  only  to  the  human  mind  ? 

This  question  obliges  us  to  examine  human  intelligence  more 
closely.  Three  facts  appear  in  regard  to  it.  First,  we  can  think 
of  nothing  by  itself.  No  absolutely  single  element  can  be  the 
object  of  thought.  Thought  implies  contrast.  In  a  world  of  un- 
broken light  we  could  have  no  idea  of  light.     Secondly,  no  two 

i  William  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I,  p.  101.  2  page  6. 


OBJECTIONS   TO    SPIRIT   AS   A    VORSTELLUNG  37 

elements  can  be  thought  of  at  the  same  time.  Suppose  that  a 
pendulum  swings  to  and  fro  between  two  points  and  that  as  it 
reaches  either  point  a  bell  strikes.  No  person  ever  sees  the  pendu- 
lum at  the  point  in  the  same  moment  in  which  he  hears  the  bell 
strike;  if  he  listens  intently  he  hears  the  bell  before  he  sees  the 
impact,  and  if  he  looks  intently  he  sees  the  impact  first.  One 
element  crowds  out  the  other  from  the  mind.  Now  if  we  were 
to  stop  here  with  the  recognition  of  only  these  two  facts,  thought 
would  appear  to  be  impossible.  But  there  is  a  third  fact  which 
must  be  taken  into  the  account.  Thought  is  organic  and  consists 
of  various  elements  which  enter  into  it  organically.  With  all  that 
pertains  to  spirit,  it  is  a  unity  which  exists  only  in  and  through 
diversity.  Our  human  thoughts  mutually  exclude  each  other, 
because  each  thought  comprises  elements  that  exclude  other  ele- 
ments. Our  mental  grasp  is  not  large  enough  to  include  many 
elements.  But  the  larger  the  mental  grasp  becomes,  the  more 
nearly  thought  approaches  perfection,  the  greater  is  its  power  to 
possess  facts  simultaneously,  and  great  thinkers  bring  into  given 
relation  a  number  and  variety  of  elements  which  ordinary  minds 
would  think  distinct.  As  Jevons  points  out,  "knowledge  in  the 
highest  perfection  would  consist  in  the  simultaneous  possession  of 
a  multitude  of  facts.  .  .  .  There  is  no  logical  foundation  for  the 
successive  character  of  thought  and  reasoning  unavoidable  under 
our  present  mental  conditions.  .  .  .  We  must  describe  metal  as 
'hard  and  opaque'  or  'opaque  and  hard,'  but  in  the  metal  itself 
there  is  no  such  difference  of  order;  the  properties  are  simul- 
taneous and  coextensive  in  existence."1  When  we  conceive  of 
infinite  spirit  the  difficulties  which  arise  from  the  imperfection  of 
finite  thought  disappear  altogether.  In  the  thought  of  God  the 
universe  must  be  one,  that  "idea  of  God,  from  which  infinites 
follow  in  infinite  modes."2 

The  philosophical  form  of  the  analogy,  however,  easily  passes 
over  into  the  third  or  psychological  aspect,  and  here  the  objections 
which  are  offered  are  more  important  and  must  be  considered 

1  W.  S.  Jevons,  The  Principles  of  Science,  Book  I,  Chap.  II. 

2  Spinoza,  Ethica,  Pars  II,  Prop.  IV. 


38  OBJECTIONS   TO    SPIRIT    AS    A    VORSTELLUNG 

more  at  length.  The  first  of  these  objections  is  based  upon  Spen- 
cer's definition  of  life  as  the  correspondence  between  external 
and  internal  changes.1  Thought  as  a  form  of  life  is  thus  con- 
ceived as  by  nature  progressive,  an  adjustment  to  external  rela- 
tions. The  lower  forms  of  animal  and  vegetable  life  make  in- 
stantaneous response,  but  as  relations  become  more  complicated 
response  becomes  slower,  and  the  delay  results  in  consciousness. 
It  is  this  definition  of  thought  which  Physicus  uses  in  the  chapter 
on  "the  argument  from  metaphysical  teleology "  in  his  Candid 
Investigation  of  Theism.2  Spencer  admits  that  according  to  such 
a  definition  we  cannot  know  the  world  as  it  really  is,  and  that  our 
knowledge  of  it  can  be  only  like  the  reflections  seen  in  a  distorted 
mirror;  the  reflections  change  with  the  changes  in  the  object  re- 
flected, but  are  no  more  true  to  them  in  other  respects  than  was 
the  original  reflection  to  the  object  itself.  "But  what  of  that?" 
asks  Spencer.  The  mirror  may  indeed  give  us  x  and  y  and  z  in- 
stead of  a  and  b  and  c,  but  y  follows  x  as  b  follows  a,  the  changes 
in  the  reflection  follow  the  law  of  the  changes  in  the  object,  and 
that  is  enough;  for  the  essential  function  of  thought  is  that  it  shall 
guide  us  through  life.  Thus  consciousness,  if  it  is  as  Spencer 
describes  it,  is  simply  an  instrument  by  which  annoyance  is  to  be 
avoided,  and  if  we  could  only  work  automatically  in  the  higher 
relations  of  life  as  we  already  do  in  lower  relations,  we  should  get 
along  perfectly  well  without  it.  Furthermore,  consciousness, 
since  it  results  from  friction  in  the  working  of  the  mental 
machinery,  implies  difficulty  and  loss;  it  is  not  only  an  accident 
but  an  accident  to  be  deplored. 

We  may  in  passing  contrast  with  this  theory  the  theory  of  Hegel 
according  to  which  the  end  of  existence  is  reached  only  as  life 
becomes  thought.  We  may  not  accept  Hegel's  theory,  but  as 
compared  with  the  theory  involved  in  Spencer's  definition  it  is 
more  in  accordance  with  our  conception  of  what  is  highest.  We 
may  hold  that  there  is  something  higher  than  thought,  but  thought 

i  The  Principles  of  Biology,  Vol.  I,  Chap.  V.     Essays,  Vol.  Ill,  pp.  246-249. 
2  George  J.  Romanes,  A  Candid  Investigation  of  Theism,  Chap.  VI. 


OBJECTIONS    TO    SPIRIT    AS    A    VORSTELLUNG  39 

is  certainly  higher  than  automatism.  However,  without  entering 
upon  debatable  ground,  we  have  to  recognize  that  although 
Spencer's  definition  covers  certain  aspects  of  consciousness  there 
are  others  which  it  excludes.  First  of  all  it  provides  no  room 
for  contemplation.  For  in  contemplation  there  is  no  adjustment 
of  inner  relations  to  outer  relations.  We  do  not  try  to  adjust 
ourselves  to  our  environment,  we  try,  on  the  contrary,  to  keep  our 
thoughts  from  wandering.  Thus  in  an  ocean  voyage  we  enjoy 
the  fullest  benefit  when  we  can  forget  even  time  in  our  contempla- 
tion of  sky  and  sea;  the  rest  and  satisfaction  which  come  to  us 
are  found  not  in  any  action  which  is  to  follow  contemplation  but 
in  contemplation  itself.  Again,  the  esthetic  sense  is  to  a  large 
extent  excluded.  According  to  Schopenhauer,  when  we  contem- 
plate a  beautiful  object  that  which  gives  pleasure  is  not  the  object 
but  the  idea  which  the  object  represents.1  Here  there  is  neither 
adjustment  nor  the  result  of  adjustment.  It  is  the  same  with 
the  whole  realm  of  the  imagination,  the  world  of  artistic  creation. 
Spencer's  definition  provides  no  place  for  them,  and  yet  there  is 
no  form  of  thought  that  we  prize  more  highly;  the  thought  of  the 
artisan  who  adapts  we  place  instinctively  below  that  of  the  artist 
who  creates.  In  conversation,  too,  thought  is  not  for  the  sake  of 
any  organism  but  is  an  end  in  itself.  Conversation,  therefore, 
would  find  no  place  under  a  definition  by  which  thought  is  made 
to  consist  in  a  series  of  adjustments. 

A  second  class  of  objections  based  upon  the  analogy  of  finite 
consciousness  in  its  psychological  aspect  assumes  that  self-con- 
sciousness or  consciousness  of  any  sort  cannot  be  attributed  to 
Absolute  Being  without  a  contradiction  in  terms.  For  in  the 
first  place,  it  is  said,  the  me  depends  upon  the  not-me;  conscious- 
ness implies  something  other  than  itself  of  which  it  is  conscious. 
Therefore  if  Absolute  Being  is  conceived  of  as  conscious  it  ceases 
to  be  absolute.  It  is  true  that  differentiation  is  necessary  to  con- 
sciousness and  that  if  consciousness  were  emptied  of  all  content, 
or  of  all  but  a  single  form  of  content,  there  would  be  no  conscious- 
ness.    But  the  process  of  differentiation  is  not  dependent  upon 

i  The  World  As  Will  and  Idea,  Book  III. 


40  OBJECTIONS   TO    SPIRIT   AS   A    VORSTELLTJNG 

that  which  is  outside  consciousness.  All  consciousness  is  in  reality 
self-consciousness,  and  what  is  commonly  called  self-consciousness 
is  merely  consciousness  raised  to  a  high  power.  We  are  directly 
conscious  only  of  that  which  is  going  on  in  our  own  minds.  We 
do  indeed  speak  of  the  consciousness  of  "realities"  outside  our- 
selves, but  we  mean  only  that  we  cannot  help  believing  that  there 
are  such  realities;  our  consciousness  is  not  of  the  outer  universe 
but  of  the  way  in  which  we  ourselves  are  affected  by  that  universe. 
Thus  all  that  is  needed  is  that  the  consciousness  should  be  to  a 
certain  extent  complex.  It  is  significant,  as  Fichte  points  out,1 
that  we  have  only  the  negative  term,  the  not-me,  for  that  which  is 
outside  ourselves.  The  positive  aspect  is  the  me,  and,  as  the  ter- 
minology itself  suggests,  we  do  not  start  from  the  not-me  to  reach 
the  me,  but  differentiate  the  not-me  from  the  me.  If  the  outer,  for- 
eign element  be  taken  away,  as  actually  happens  in  dreams,  the 
consciousness  of  individuality  is  as  strong  as  when  one  is  awake. 
It  is  this  truth  that  underlies  the  doctrine  of  solipsism  which 
reaches  its  full  expression  only  in  the  Vedanta.  It  is  a  doctrine 
that  no  one  can  dispute  logically,  and  the  only  answer  which  can 
be  given  to  any  one  who  professes  to  hold  it  is  to  insist  that  in 
reality  he  does  believe  what  he  says  that  he  does  not  believe.  In 
a  similar  way  it  is  impossible  to  confute  logically  an  idealism 
like  that  of  Fichte  which  asserts  that  external  objects  have  no 
reality. 

But  the  objection  is  made,  secondly,  that  to  produce  conscious- 
ness some  stimulus  from  without  is  needed,  an  anstoss,  a  collision 
with  the  not-me  of  the  outer  world  by  which  the  I  shall  be  reflected 
back  upon  itself.  Or  if,  with  Fichte,  reality  is  denied  to  the  outer 
world,  then  the  collision  must  arise  from  limitations  in  conscious- 
ness itself.  To  conceive  of  Absolute  Being  as  receiving  such  a 
stimulus  in  either  way  is  again,  it  is  said,  a  contradiction  in  terms. 
This  same  objection,  however,  is  made  by  the  spiritualist  to  the 
position  of  the  materialist.  Just  as  the  materialist  insists  that 
spirit  cannot  reach  consciousness  except  as  some  impact  from 
external  matter  sets  it  in  motion,  so  the  spiritualist  insists  that 

1  C.  C.  Everett,  Fichte' s  Science  of  Knowledge,  Chap.  V. 


OBJECTIONS   TO    SPIRIT   AS   A    VORSTELLUNG  41 

matter  is  in  itself  dead,  and  that  only  the  touch  of  spiritual  power 
can  stir  it  to  life.  If  the  materialist  answers  that  motion  is  nothing 
new  in  matter  or  foreign  to  it,  and  that  the  activity  of  matter  is 
without  beginning  or  end,  why  may  not  the  spiritualist  make  a 
like  answer  and  assume  that  the  processes  of  consciousness  are 
equally  without  beginning  or  end  ?  The  argument  has  as  much 
validity  on  the  one  side  as  on  the  other,  and  we  may  equally  well 
assume  that  spirit  and  matter  have  been  eternally  active  together, 
or  that  either  could  exist  eternally  independently  of  the  other. 

We  have,  then,  as  the  result  of  all  this  examination,  two  propo- 
sitions. First,  we  cannot  represent  Absolute  Being  to  ourselves 
except  under  the  form  of  spirit.  Second,  we  cannot  represent  to 
ourselves  ideal  spirit,  perfect  consciousness,  except  as  Absolute 
Being.  In  considering  the  first  of  these  propositions  we  have  to 
recognize  the  mistake  which  many  philosophers  have  made  in  con- 
ceiving the  infinite  statically  as  over  against  the  finite.  If  this 
conception  were  true,  there  would  be,  as  Hegel  points  out,1  not  the 
infinite  and  the  finite,  but  two  finites  antithetical  to  each  other 
and  excluding  each  other.  The  finite  must  be  conceived  not  as 
excluded  by  the  infinite  but  as  taken  up  into  the  infinite,  not  as 
over  against  the  infinite  but  as  the  manifestation  of  the  infinite. 
Any  conception  of  infinity,  furthermore,  which  implies  mere  ex- 
tension, mere  endlessness,  is  inadequate,  and  the  true  symbol  of 
infinity  is  not  the  straight  line  reaching  on  and  on,  but  the  line 
which  returns  to  itself,  the  circle,  the  serpent  with  its  tail  in  its 
mouth.  The  process  which  is  symbolized  by  the  circle  is  found 
only  in  spirit.  It  is  spirit  alone  which  returns  from  that  into  which 
it  has  gone  forth.  The  player  strikes  the  ball  with  his  cue,  and  the 
force  that  goes  out  is  broken  up  and  lost,2  but  the  player's  thought 
is  returned  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  plan.  The  sculptor 
chisels  the  block  of  marble  and  the  stone  gives  back  his  thought 
as  it  takes  shape  according  to  his  ideal.  The  absolute  spirit 
returns  to  itself  out  of  all  its  various  manifestations  in  the  universe, 
preserving  itself  through  all  changes. 

The  use  of  the  circle  as  the  symbol  of  the  infinite  may  suggest 

i  The  Logic  of  Hegel,  trans,  by  W.  Wallace,  §  95.  2  page  33. 


42  OBJECTIONS   TO    SPIRIT   AS    A    VORSTELLUNG 

the  objection  that  as  there  are  many  circles,  so  there  may  be  many 
infinites.  But  it  is  not  necessary  to  press  the  symbol  so  far.  There 
can  be  only  one  infinite  consciousness.  The  circle  of  the  spiritual 
life  can  be  conceived  as  perfect  only  in  that  Absolute  Being  to 
which  nothing  is  foreign  or  external. 

The  theory  of  the  infinite  as  not  static  but  a  process,  and  a  process 
not  of  extension  but  of  return  to  self,  is  Hegel's  great  contribution 
to  philosophic  thought.  He  complements  Heraclitus  on  the  one 
hand  and  Spinoza  on  the  other.  With  Heraclitus,  as  with  Buddha 
also,  there  is  process,  but  the  flux  is  on  and  on  without  return. 
The  system  of  Spinoza  is  sometimes  misunderstood  through  a  mis- 
conception of  his  meaning  when  he  states  that  all  determination 
is  limitation.1  If  this  were  taken  literally  it  would  overthrow 
Spinoza's  own  theories,  but  what  he  must  mean  by  "  determina- 
tion" is  rather  "exclusion."  His  theory  of  the  absolute  finds 
illustration  in  the  relation  between  light  and  color.  There  can 
be  no  single  color  without  limitation.  But  in  the  solar  spectrum, 
although  the  light  is  broken  up,  it  is  no  more  limited  than  when 
it  appeared  as  white  light.  Rather  it  may  be  said  that  it  was 
more  limited  as  white  light,  in  that  what  was  implicit  had  not 
become  explicit.  In  a  similar  way  the  Absolute  of  Spinoza  is 
a  substance  manifesting  itself  in  infinite  attributes  and  modes, 
the  infinitely  concrete.  There  is  here,  however,  no  process,  but 
only  constant  equality,  the  infinite  equal  to  the  sum  of  all  the 
attributes  in  which  it  manifests  itself.  With  Hegel  the  Absolute 
is  spirit,  and  the  return  to  self  is  essential.  How  far  he  uses  the 
term  "infinite  spirit"  in  the  religious  sense  is  doubtful.  It  will 
not  do  to  push  his  authority  too  far  in  this  respect.  He  certainly 
does  not  fill  the  theistic  position  which  Neo-Hegelians  in  England 
have  claimed  for  him. 

It  may  be  asked  whether  the  terms  "personality,"  "conscious- 
ness," "spirit,"  are  not  narrowing  as  applied  to  Absolute  Being.2 

i  Ethica,  Pars  I,  Def.  II. 

2  The  best  negative  criticism  of  the  personality  of  Absolute  Being  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Christliche  Glaubenslehre  of  Strauss  (Ed.  1840,  Vol.  I,  §  33,  p.  502), 
where  the  practical  difficulties  that  arise  when  one  attempts  to  conceive  of  infinite 


OBJECTIONS   TO    SPIRIT   AS    A    VORSTELLUNG  43 

The  terms  are  of  course  imperfect,  in  that  they  are  also  used  so 
commonlv  with  some  lower,  more  limited  meaning,  which  we 
cannot  easily  shake  off.  Thus  "personality"  suggests,  although 
it  does  not  necessarily  imply,  one  among  others,  and  is  used  of  the 
lowest  as  well  as  of  the  highest  in  human  nature.  "Conscious- 
ness" also  has  its  lower  associations,  and  the  term  "self-con- 
sciousness" especially,  as  commonly  used,  expresses  limitation 
and  defect.  There  is  a  certain  delight,  a  sense  of  freedom,  in 
escaping  from  the  trammels  of  self-consciousness.  Self-conscious- 
ness mars  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  an  heroic  act.  It  interferes 
with  the  full  enjoyment  of  beauty.  I  sit  with  a  friend  at  a  concert, 
and  we  both  enjoy  the  music;  but  whereas  I  am  conscious  that  I 
enjoy  it,  my  friend  has  forgotten  himself  in  the  fulness  of  his 
pleasure  and  appreciation.  I  say  to  him,  "  How  beautiful  it  is !" 
He  answers,  "  Why,  then,  do  you  not  listen  to  it  ?  " 

Yet  self-consciousness  cannot  be  wholly  done  away  with,  even 
in  pure  contemplation.  If  in  listening  to  the  music  we  should 
reach  a  point  where  there  was  no  self-consciousness,  we  should 
cease  to  enjoy  it,  for  we  should  not  hear  it.  In  all  consciousness 
two  elements  are  implied,  the  subjective  and  the  objective,  of 
which  the  objective  is  not  necessarily  external  or  foreign.  Self- 
consciousness  in  the  lower  sense  appears  when  the  subjective  is 
over-emphasized,  when   the  subject  gets  behind    the  object  and 

consciousness  are  clearly  stated.  It  is  surprising,  however,  considering  his  Hegelian 
training,  that  Strauss  should  consider  so  contradictory  the  thought  of  the  unity 
of  God  and  the  necessity  of  representing  him  under  manifold  aspects.  For  in  the 
first  place,  as  we  have  already  seen  (Chap.  IV,  pp.  32-34,  and  Chap.  V,  p.  41),  ideal 
unity  is  not  to  be  conceived  as  over  against  diversity,  but  as  manifesting  itself  in 
and  through  diversity.  Furthermore,  an  object  under  consideration  is  often  divided 
without  violence  to  it  when  the  division  helps  toward  a  better  understanding  of  the 
object.  Thus  when  we  are  studying  some  force  which  acts  in  a  single  direction 
we  represent  it  as  acting  in  two  directions  of  which  the  direction  in  which  the  force 
really  works  is  the  resultant.  Theoretically,  for  the  sake  of  analysis  and  compre- 
hension, we  have  divided  the  force,  and  there  is  no  falsity  in  this  division.  Yet  the 
unity  of  the  actual  force  remains  unbroken.  Again,  a  similar  process  is  followed 
in  the  analysis  of  certain  forms  of  mental  experience.  Thus  we  are  told  that  hope 
involves  two  emotions,  the  feeling  that  an  object  is  desirable,  and  the  feeling  that 
the  desired  object  is  possible  of  attainment.  Here  is  a  compound.  Yet  hope  itself 
is  not  compound  but  single. 


44  OBJECTIONS   TO    SPIRIT   AS    A    VORSTELLUNG 

finds  itself  there.  In  the  higher  or  true  self-consciousness  the 
objective  is  at  its  maximum  consistently  with  any  consciousness 
at  all. 

From  certain  points  of  view  any  form  of  presentation  tends  to 
narrow  and  belittle.  The  concept  passes  into  an  image,  a  picture, 
which  appeals  at  once  to  the  imagination  and  which  cannot  be 
larger  than  the  field  of  vision  of  the  imagination,  and  then  we  tend 
to  confuse  the  original  concept  with  the  product  of  the  imagina- 
tion. Thus  it  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive  of  the  form  of  the 
earth  and  of  its  vastness  at  the  same  time.  We  have  two  ideas 
of  the  world,  one  as  a  ball  in  space,  and  the  other  as  composed  of 
seas  and  lands,  and  plains  and  mountains.  As  compared  with 
the  grandeur  of  the  mountains  or  the  vastness  of  the  ocean  the 
thought  of  the  spherical  form  belittles  our  conception.  Yet  not- 
withstanding this  difficulty  we  do  use  both  ideas;  scientifically  we 
conceive  the  form  of  the  earth,  and  practically  we  conceive  its 
vastness.  It  is  a  similar  sort  of  difficulty  which  meets  us  when 
we  try  to  represent  to  ourselves  the  infinite  spirit.  Any  form  of 
presentation  which  is  taken  from  finite  personality  tends  to  intro- 
duce into  our  conception  the  little  associations  which  belong  to 
the  limited  spirit  and  consciousness  with  which  we  are  familiar, 
and  we  cannot  fill  out  our  conception  of  the  form  of  the  Absolute 
with  the  infinitude  of  the  content.  Yet  practically  we  live  with- 
out sense  of  limitation  in  the  relation  implied  by  the  form  of  pres- 
entation that  we  have  chosen.  This  relation  is  not  lost  through 
any  change  of  place;  wherever  we  go,  we  recognize  it;  the  imagina- 
tion cannot  picture  any  world  without  it.  "Though  I  take  the 
wings  of  the  morning,  or  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea, 
even  there  shall  thy  hand  lead  me  and  thy  right  hand  shall  hold 
me." 

So  far,  then,  from  narrowing  or  belittling  our  conception  of 
the  Absolute,  spirit  is  the  only  enlarging  form  under  which  we 
can  represent  it.  If  we  do  not  conceive  it  thus,  then  we  must 
conceive  it  as  non-spirit.  It  is  idle  to  ask  why  we  should  repre- 
sent it  to  ourselves  at  all.  The  unity  of  the  universe  forces  itself 
upon  us,  and  we  must  conceive  it  under  the  one  form  or  the  other, 


OBJECTIONS    TO    SPIRIT    AS    A    VORSTELLUNG  45 

either  as  spirit,  that  which  is  self-conscious,  or  as  that  which  is 
opposed  to  spirit  and  without  self-consciousness.  Practically 
there  can  be  no  tertium  quid.  The  "  Force  "  of  Herbert  Spencer, 
for  instance,  either  belongs  to  the  material  world  equally  with 
any  other  force  like  gravitation,  or,  if  not,  swings  over  into  the 
spiritual  world.  If  we  refuse  to  think  of  unity  as  spiritual  we  must 
think  of  it  as  material.  But  spirit  is  the  only  adequate  form  of 
presentation.  Only  as  spirit  can  the  finite  go  beyond  itself.  I 
take  this  desk  into  my  consciousness;  the  desk  does  not  thus 
make  me  a  part  of  itself.  The  mind  of  Newton  comprehends 
the  movements  of  the  earth  and  the  stars;  they  have  not  com- 
prehended him.  Only  as  spirit  does  being  escape  from  all  con- 
finement and  find  itself  at  large  in  the  universe. 

No  less  true  is  the  converse  of  all  this.  As  we  cannot  represent 
Absolute  Being  except  under  the  form  of  spirit,  so  we  cannot  con- 
ceive ideal  spirit,  perfect  consciousness,  except  as  Absolute  Being. 
For  spirit,  to  be  perfect,  must  be  wholly  transparent  to  itself,  that 
is,  its  opposite  must  be  wholly  open  to  its  consciousness;  and 
although  finite  spirits  may  be  to  a  certain  degree  thus  transparent, 
they  must  from  their  very  nature  remain  to  a  great  extent  closed 
and  opaque  in  relation  to  the  external  world.1  For  in  the  first 
place  the  finite  spirit  has  to  do  with  forces  which  it  did  not  origi- 
nate. Later  it  may  find  kinship  with  these  forces,  but  they  remain 
foreign  to  it,  and  its  life  is  always  open  to  irruption  and  invasion 
by  them.  The  perfect  drama  is  transparent,  containing  within 
itself  all  the  elements  by  which  the  plot  is  worked  out.  But  no 
finite  life  is  such  a  drama;  elements  from  without  divide  its  plans 
and  contradict  its  foresight.  We  are  like  ships  at  sea;  we  lay 
our  course  and  then  a  tempest  drives  us  from  it.  Secondly,  it 
is  out  of  these  very  elements,  external  and  foreign  to  it,  that  finite 
life  has  been  derived.  Its  roots  are  not  in  itself,  and  our  lives 
are  not  really  ours  until  we  can  recall  them  as  such.  But  the 
earliest  period  in  them  is  lost  to  us,  and  of  the  later  years  we  re- 
member as  a  rule  only  certain  points  of  experience;  what  was 
going  on  around  those  points,  the  circumstances  and  thoughts 

i  H.  Lotze,  Microcosmos,  Book  IX,  Chap.  IV,  §  4. 


46  OBJECTIONS    TO    SPIRIT   AS   A    VORSTELLUNG 

which  made  up  our  lives  as  a  whole,  we  have  forgotten.  Thirdly, 
only  a  small  part  of  our  experience  is  available  at  any  one  moment. 
The  field  in  which  our  minds  work  is  so  limited  that  one  thing 
crowds  out  another,  and  life,  in  so  far  as  it  is  transparent  at  all,  is 
transparent  only  in  a  single  point  of  time.  It  is  like  some  picture 
in  glass  with  a  point  of  light  behind  it,  the  colors  revealed  or 
obscured  as  the  light  behind  is  shifted  from  one  part  of  the 
picture  to  another.  Finally,  much  of  the  inner,  subjective  life 
never  reaches  the  threshold  of  consciousness.  How  little,  for 
instance,  do  we  know  of  the  bodily  functions!  I  will  to  take 
up  a  book,  and  do  take  it  up ;  but  how  do  I  do  it  ?  The  anatomist 
gives  us  a  little  knowledge,  but  it  does  not  carry  us  far.  We  are 
like  guests  in  a  house  where  we  know  nothing  of  the  machinery 
by  which  the  work  of  the  house  is  carried  on.  Or  again,  I  forget 
what  it  is  that  I  was  about  to  say  or  do ;  I  make  an  effort  to  recall 
it,  but  without  success;  I  think  of  something  else,  and  presently 
the  memory  of  what  it  was  that  I  intended  comes  unbidden.1 
Or  some  association  of  ideas  presents  itself  which  cannot  be  ex- 
plained except  as  we  may  sometimes  through  subsequent  recog- 
nition trace  the  connection  in  our  thought;  thus  I  visit  some 
house  which  I  have  never  seen  before,  and  presently  find  myself 
thinking  of  my  early  childhood;  it  may  occur  to  me  later  that  the 
paper  on  the  wall  was  similar  to  the  paper  in  some  room  with  which 
I  was  familiar  when  a  child,  or  again  I  may  never  know  what 
caused  the  connection  in  my  mind.  As  one  considers  how  largely 
thought  consists  in  the  association  of  ideas,  he  realizes  how  much 
of  finite  life  is  unconscious. 

These  difficulties  and  others  like  them  which  meet  us  in  the 
sphere  of  finite  consciousness  disappear  when  we  turn  to  the 
thought  of  Absolute  Being.  The  elements  of  our  own  spiritual 
life  do  not  cover  one  another,  but  in  the  thought  of  Absolute  Being 
all  elements  are  conceived  as  covering  one  another,  with  no  re- 
bellion or  vacillation  among  them,  no  drawing  hither  and  thither. 

1  W.  B.  Carpenter,  Principles  of  Mental  Physiology,  Chap.  XIII.  Eduard 
von  Hartmann,  Philosophie  des  Unbewussten.  Lotze,  Microcosmos,  Book  III, 
Chap.  III. 


OBJECTIONS    TO    SPIRIT   AS   A    VORSTELLUNG  47 

Furthermore,  the  abstract  or  the  ideal  is  always  more  readily  com- 
prehended than  the  concrete  and  actual.  Thus  any  one  can  com- 
prehend the  idea  of  a  perfect  circle ;  but  let  the  most  accomplished 
draughtsman  try  to  draw  an  actual  circle  as  nearly  perfect  as  he 
can  make  it,  and  it  will  present  irregularities  that  would  be  the 
despair  of  any  mathematician  who  should  attempt  to  find  a  formula 
to  cover  them.  In  a  similar  way  the  definition  of  spirit  as  some- 
thing that  is  wholly  transparent  to  itself  is  justified  with  difficulty 
so  long  as  the  analysis  is  confined  to  finite  being.  It  is  fulfilled 
only  in  Absolute  Being,  that  ideal  of  consciousness  in  which  the 
return  to  self  is  complete.  This  does  not  mean  the  perfect  com- 
prehension of  the  divine.  Rather  does  mystery  begin  with  knowl- 
edge and  deepen  as  knowledge  increases.1  It  is  true  that  "  God 
is  light  and  in  him  is  no  darkness  at  all,"  but  it  is  also  true  that 
"clouds  and  darkness  are  round  about  him."  What  we  have 
found  is  that  the  term  "  infinite  consciousness  "  is  not  self -contra- 
dictory, that  "infinity"  and  "consciousness"  not  only  do  not 
exclude  each  other  but  are  necessary  each  to  the  other. 

1  Page  4. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  FIRST  IDEA  OF  THE  REASON  MANIFESTED  AS  IDEAL  UNITY, 
OR  OMNISCIENCE,  AND  AS  DYNAMIC  UNITY,  OR  OMNIPO- 
TENCE.— THE    FOURTH    DEFINITION    OF    RELIGION. 

Does  omnipresence  imply  omniscience  ?  This  question  at  once 
resolves  itself  into  two  questions.  First,  can  Absolute  Being  have 
knowledge  of  that  which  is  foreign  to  itself?  Knowledge  implies 
the  distinction  between  subject  and  object.  Is  not  such  a  dis- 
tinction inconsistent  with  the  conception  of  absolute  conscious- 
ness ?  Thomas  Aquinas  meets  this  objection  with  the  statement 
that  since  God  is  all  in  all,  since  it  is  in  and  through  him  that  all 
things  exist,  there  can  be  nothing  which  is  foreign  to  him,  and  thus 
in  knowing  all  things  he  simply  knows  himself.1  This,  however, 
only  leads  to  the  second  of  the  two  questions,  and  we  must  ask 
whether  Absolute  Being  can  have  knowledge  of  itself.  Knowledge 
implies  comprehension.  Can  there  be  comprehension  of  that 
which  is  not  finite  ?  Aquinas  replies  that  since  we  know  that 
which  we  grasp  and  hold  and  have,  it  is  not  necessary  to  stand 
outside  of  an  object  and  compare  it  with  other  things  in  order  to 
have  knowledge  of  it;  therefore  infinite  knowledge  may  compre- 
hend infinite  being. 

Spinoza,  in  using  the  term  "knowledge"  makes  a  distinction 
between  absolute  knowledge  and  finite  knowledge;  the  knowl- 
edge which  God  possesses  is  not  to  be  compared  with  man's  knowl- 
edge.2 To  emphasize  the  difference  he  uses  a  picturesque  though 
extravagant  figure.  The  divine  understanding  and  will,  he  says, 
have  no  more  in  common  with  human  understanding  and  will 
than  the  Dog,  a  sign  in  the  heavens,  has  with  the  barking  animal 
on  earth  that  we  call  a  dog.     The  understanding  of  God,  he  pro- 

1  Sumnia  Theologica,  Pars  I,  Quaest.  XIV. 

2  Ethica,  Pars  I,  Prop.  XVII. 


IDEAL    UNITY,   OR    OMNISCIENCE  49 

ceeds,  since  it  is  the  sole  cause  of  things,  must  necessarily  differ 
from  things  themselves;  for  whatever  is  caused  must  differ  from 
that  which  causes  it  precisely  in  that  which  it  has  for  its  cause. 
It  is  difficult  to  reconcile  the  idea  of  such  a  chasm  between  absolute 
and  finite  understanding  and  will  with  the  position  usually  taken 
by  Spinoza,  for  nothing  is  farther  from  his  usual  thought  than  a 
creator  of  the  universe  from  without  and  apart  from  it.  He  must 
have  in  mind  a  distinction  between  the  natura  naturans  and  the 
nahira  naturata.1 

There  are  three  ways  in  which  the  divine  thought  differs  from 
human  thought:  first,  divine  thought  is  a  priori,  human  thought 
a  posteriori;  second,  divine  thought  embraces  its  object  simul- 
taneously, human  thought  in  succession;  third,  to  divine  thought 
things  present  themselves  as  a  comprehensive  unity,  to  human 
thought  only  in  detail.  But  these  differences  are  only  the  differ- 
ences between  perfect  thought  and  imperfect  thought.  Take, 
for  example,  the  difference  as  regards  the  a  priori  or  the  a  pos- 
teriori method.  It  is  true  that  in  general  we  think  a  thing  because 
it  exists,  whereas  we  conceive  that  with  God  a  thing  exists  because 
he  thinks  it.  Yet  to  some  extent  human  thought  at  times  follows 
the  method  of  divine  thought.  Thus  the  artist  usually  under- 
stands his  own  work  better  than  any  one  else  can.  Of  course  he 
is  finite,  a  product  of  his  time,  an  expression  of  the  spirit  of  his 
age,  and  to  a  large  extent  his  genius  may  work  unconsciously, 
building  "better  than  he  knew."  Yet  to  some  extent  also  he  is 
conscious  of  his  own  creative  power,  and  in  so  far  as  he  is  thus 
conscious  he  follows  the  method  of  divine  thought  and  recognizes 
its  higher  nature.  Similarly,  as  we  have  already  seen,2  although 
in  general  he  may  think  in  succession  and  in  detail,  he  does  make 
approaches  toward  thought  which  is  unitary  and  all-embracing. 
The  chasm,  therefore,  between  divine  and  human  thought  is  not 
absolute.     Men  think  imperfectly  but  they  think  truly. 

Does  the  conception  of  divine  omniscience  carry  with  it  a  divine 
foreknowledge  of  contingent  events,  the  events  which  result  from 

1  C.  C.  Everett,  Psycfwlogical  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  91. 

2  Chap.  V,  p.  37. 


50  IDEAL   UNITY,  OR   OMNISCIENCE 

the  freedom  of  the  human  will  ?  The  difficulty  which  this  question 
raises  has  been  met  in  three  ways.  Three  elements  enter  into  the 
problem, — the  absoluteness  of  the  divine  knowledge,  the  contin- 
gency of  events,  and  futurity, — and  each  of  the  three  methods  of 
solving  the  problem  does  away  with  one  or  another  of  these  three 
elements.  The  first  solution  gives  up  the  first  of  the  three  ele- 
ments and  affirms  that  God  does  not  and  cannot  have  foreknowl- 
edge of  contingent  events.  This  solution  offers  a  striking  instance 
of  the  method  of  "common-sense"  theology.1  The  apparent 
limitation  of  divine  knowledge  which  it  implies  is  met  by  the 
argument  that  God  has  open  before  him  all  possible  choices,  so 
that  when  the  individual  in  the  exercise  of  his  free  will  comes  to 
make  his  choice,  God  is  ready  to  adapt  that  choice  to  the  plan  of 
the  universe.  The  skilful  chess  player,  who  does  not  know  what 
move  the  other  player  will  make  next,  but  is  ready  for  every  move, 
the  great  ruler  who  meets  with  wise  statesmanship  the  different  sit- 
uations presented  to  him  as  they  arise, — it  is  with  such  knowledge 
as  theirs,  conceived  as  absolute,  that  God  controls  all  events.  So 
far  from  detracting  at  all  from  the  glory  of  God,  such  a  conception, 
it  is  held,  adds  to  his  dignity  and  grandeur.2  The  second  solution 
ignores  the  contingency  of  events.  Freedom  of  the  will  in  man 
is  denied,  and  all  events  are  foreordained.  God  has  absolute 
knowledge  of  all,  because  all  has  been  determined  by  him  from 
the  beginning.  This  is  the  solution  that  is  offered  by  Calvinism. 
The  third  solution  does  away  with  futurity  in  affirming  the  phe- 
nomenality  of  time.3  According  to  this  view,  the  view  of  "mys- 
tical" or  "orthodox"  theology,4  there  is  no  foreknowledge;  but 
only  knowledge.  God  does  not  know  beforehand;  he  knows. 
He  does  not  foresee;  he  sees.  A  certain  amount  of  freedom  is 
conceived  working  within  a  timeless  eternity.  Thomas  Aquinas, 
in  the  Summa  Theological  gives  as  an  illustration  of  this  view 

i  Page  18. 

2  Martineau,  A  Stiidy  of  Religion,  Vol.  II,  pp.  278-280.     Rothe,  Dogmatik, 
Vol.  I,  §§  27,  49. 

3  Pages  20-22.  *  Page  18. 
s  Pars  I,  Quaest.  XIV,  Art.  XIII. 


IDEAL   UNITY,  OR    OMNISCIENCE  51 

the  travellers  on  a  road  who  can  only  see  each  the  one  immediately 
in  front  of  him,  or  who  can  be  seen  by  an  observer  on  the  same 
level  with  them  only  as  they  pass  one  by  one,  whereas  the  observer 
on  a  hill  that  overlooks  the  whole  extent  of  the  road  sees  all  the 
travellers  at  once.1 

But  why  should  we  try  to  settle  this  question,  when  the  answer 
to  it  is  not  necessary  to  religion  ?  All  that  we  hope  to  do  is  to 
remove  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  religion,  and  such  questions 
as  this  which  lie  beyond  our  reach  and  are  not  essential  may  well 
be  left  unanswered.  Spirit  is  the  only  form  under  which  we  can 
represent  to  ourselves  Absolute  Being,  and  when  we  enter  too 
much  into  detail  we  only  blur  the  symbol. 

A  question  arises  here  which  will  occur  more  than  once,  as  to 
the  use  of  the  word  infinite.  Are  we  to  speak  of  the  divine  knowl- 
edge as  infinite  ?  Considered  extensively,  if  the  content  of  divine 
knowledge  is  infinite,  then  the  knowledge  itself  will  be  infinite. 
Even  if  the  universe  is  not  infinite,  its  elements  may  be  infinite, 
and  thus  the  knowledge  of  the  universe  would  still  be  infinite. 
Intensively,  however,  such  knowledge  may  better  be  called  per- 
fect, in  that  it  conforms  accurately  to  the  object  which  it  embraces. 
It  is  in  this  way  that  the  Socinians  avoid  the  difficulty  of  possible 
limitation  in  the  thought  of  divine  knowledge  when  they  say  that 
omniscience  is  the  knowledge  of  all  that  is  knowable.  The  uni- 
verse as  the  great  object  of  all  knowledge  has  many  aspects. 
Finite  knowledge  must  cover  these  various  aspects  separately; 
we  know  only  in  part.  Divine  knowledge  embraces  all  as  a  whole. 
Strauss  objects  that  if  the  universe  is  thus  one  to  the  divine 
knowledge  all  differences  must  be  done  away  with  and  every- 
thing become  a  mush.  But,  as  I  have  already  pointed  out,2  this 
is  because  he  forgets  his  Hegelian  training  and  has  in  mind  an 
abstract  unity  instead  of  that  concrete  unity  in  which  the  parts 
are  not  done  away  with  but  taken  up  into  the  whole. 

In  passing  from  the  consideration  of  omniscience,  or  ideal  unity, 
to  that  of  dynamic  unity,  omnipotence,  still  another  question  is 
suggested.     In  the  conception  of  Absolute  Being  has  free  will 

i  Page  22.  2  Note,  page  42. 


52  IDEAL   UNITY,   OR    OMNISCIENCE 

any  place  ?  Does  the  divine  knowledge  extend  beyond  the  divine 
will  ?  Has  God  the  power  to  choose  ?  Many  theologians  have 
answered  the  question  by  attributing  to  divine  being  absolute 
freedom  of  will.  Leibnitz,  for  instance,  pictures  God  as  seeing 
before  himself  the  ideals  of  all  sorts  of  worlds  and  looking  over 
the  whole  and  selecting  the  world  as  it  exists  at  present  because 
it  contained  the  maximum  of  good  and  the  minimum  of  evil.1 
Similarly  in  the  creed  of  Peter  Mogilas  it  is  stated  that  God  might 
have  made  six  hundred  thousand  worlds  as  good  as  ours.2  Spinoza, 
however,  denies  free  will  to  God;^  in  the  sense  in  which  freedom 
consists  in  the  ability  to  manifest  one's  self  without  interference 
either  from  without  or  from  within,  God  is  free,  but  freedom  of 
choice  in  activity  God  does  not  possess  any  more  than  man.  In 
thus  denying  free  will  to  God,  Spinoza  does  not  intend  to  limit 
God  but  rather  to  enlarge  and  dignify  the  conception  of  his  ac- 
tivity. For  freedom  of  choice  on  the  part  of  Absolute  Being 
would  involve  one  or  the  other  of  two  alternatives.  Either  it  must 
be  assumed  that  God  has  thought  of  something  which  was  not 
worthy  of  execution,  or  else  he  has  been  obliged  to  choose  between 
this  or  that  possible  course  because  he  could  not  accomplish  both. 
In  either  case  there  would  be  a  confession  of  weakness.  It  is  the 
second  of  these  alternatives  which  Spinoza  especially  emphasizes. 
Men  choose,  he  says,  because  they  are  finite;  their  freedom  of 
choice  is  the  result  of  their  limitation ;  they  have  to  decide  whether 
they  will  do  A  or  B  because  they  cannot  do  both  A  and  B.  When 
a  difficult  ravine  is  to  be  bridged,  the  engineer  or  architect  of 
limited  knowledge  and  experience,  or  of  lesser  genius,  studies 
different  plans,  hesitating  as  to  which  is  better;  but  the  great 
engineer,  the  perfect  architect,  at  once  sees  in  his  mind's  eye  the 
one  bridge  that  is  suited  to  the  spot.  Yet  it  may  be  that  the  in- 
finite mind  may  still  see  all  other  possible  bridges  together  with 
the  one  perfect  bridge. 

i  Theodicee,  Essais  sur  la  Bonte  de  Dieu,  etc.,  Partie  II,  225. 
2  Schaff,  Creeds  of  Christendom,  Vol.  II,  p.  290. 
s  Ethica,  Pars  I,  Prop.  XVII. 


DYNAMIC    UNITY,  OR    OMNIPOTENCE  53 

Here  again,  however,  religion  has  little  concern  with  the  answer 
to  the  question  and  may  accept  or  reject  it  as  it  will.  If  it  find 
the  thought  of  free  will  in  Absolute  Being  essential  to  the  religious 
spirit,  let  it  assume  free  will,  and  vice  versa.  The  case  is  not  one 
of  those  which  involve  a  contradiction  between  the  reason  and  the 
heart,  the  reason  denying  what  the  heart  demands.1  Here,  what- 
ever the  answer  to  the  question  may  be,  no  contradiction  of  the 
infinite  unity  is  involved.  But  we  have  to  recognize  the  limitations 
of  finite  thought,  and  such  questions  are  beyond  the  reach  of 
human  understanding  to  determine  absolutely. 

Finally,  of  the  four  forms  in  which  the  first  idea  of  the  reason 
manifests  itself,  there  remains  to  be  considered  dynamic  unity, 
or  unity  in  force,  omnipotence.  What,  then,  is  meant  by  omnip- 
otence ?  Is  it  the  ability  to  do  everything  ?  Or  is  it  the  ability 
to  do  everything  that  is  possible  ?  For  example,  is  it  a  limitation 
of  omnipotence  to  hold  that  Absolute  Being  cannot  transcend  the 
law  of  contradiction,  that  God  cannot  make  himself  other  than 
he  is  ?  Or,  again,  if  omnipotence  can  make  arbitrary  all  distinc- 
tion between  truth  and  falsity,  what  becomes  of  omniscience  ? 
If  there  is  a  power  that  can  make  evil  good,  what  becomes  of 
goodness?  What  becomes  of  all  attributes  if  omnipotence  is 
conceived  as  absolute  ?  Would  omnipotence  itself  remain  ?  For 
power  means  not  merely  accomplishment,  but  the  might  which 
accomplishes,  and  if  there  is  no  obstacle  to  overcome  there  is  no 
power.  We  say  how  easily  the  water  boils  in  vacuo,  not  how 
powerful  is  the  fire;  how  easily  the  balanced  rock  is  tilted,  and 
not  how  mighty  is  the  hand  of  the  child  that  moves  it.  It  may- 
be said  that  omnipotence  is  perfect  power,  the  ability  to  overcome 
the  maximum  of  obstacle  which  is  consistent  with  overcoming 
the  obstacle  at  all.  But  we  are  dealing  with  Absolute  Being. 
Where  are  any  obstacles  to  it  to  be  found  ?  and  what  difficulty 
could  it  have  in  overcoming  them  ? 

Some  have  found  a  way  of  escape  from  this  problem  by  assum- 
ing that  there  is  some  form  of  matter,  the  v\rj  of  Aristotle,  upon 
which    the    divine   power    acts.     Thus  Martineau    assumes    the 

i  Page  12. 


54  DYNAMIC    UNITY,  OR    OMNIPOTENCE 

necessity  of  a  datum  upon  which  the  creative  power  of  God  may 
be  asserted.1  We  cannot,  however,  conceive  of  the  two  as  distinct. 
Back  of  the  creative  power  and  the  objective  datum  there  would 
have  to  be  some  higher  unity,  an  absolute  behind  the  divine  and 
the  material,  the  undifferentiated  somewhat  that  is  assumed  by 
Spencer.2  Others  have  offered  the  conjecture  that  there  may  be 
ideal  irreeoncilables,  elements  which  contradict  one  another, 
universal  necessities  to  which  the  divine  being  like  all  else  is  sub- 
ject.3 So  Leibnitz,  with  his  theory  of  the  best  possible  world, 
recognizes  difficulties  as  existing  in  certain  relations  from  the 
first:  evil  is  not  to  be  wholly  eliminated,  but  good  is  to  be  attained 
at  a  cost. 

The  question  is  simply  one  that  cannot  be  solved.  But  it  is 
helpful  to  find  that  the  difficulty  extends  to  all  relations.  Where 
do  relations  abide?  I  draw  a  line,  A,  by  itself.  Then  I  draw 
another  line,  B,  and  instantly  there  is  a  relation,  for  one  line  is 
shorter  than  the  other,  or  one  is  previous  to  the  other.  But  where 
is  the  relation  ?  It  is  not  in  the  first  line,  for  so  long  as  the  first 
line  remained  alone  the  relation  did  not  exist,  but  neither  is  it  in 
the  second  line.  We  may  say  that  it  is  in  our  thought,  but  even  so 
the  elements  must  exist  to  which  the  differences  relate.  The  mis- 
take which  is  commonly  made  is  in  attempting  to  reason  from  the 
infinite.  The  only  course  that  is  possible  for  thought  is,  as  Dr. 
Hill  has  said,4  to  reason  to  the  infinite,  to  start  from  the  realities 
which  are  given  and  make  such  progress  from  them  toward  the 
infinite  as  one  may.  Thus,  instead  of  assuming  that  the  thought 
of  the  infinite  is  the  basis  of  religion,  we  begin  by  finding  that 
there  is  something  which  is  at  first  feared  and  worshipped  and 
then  loved  and  obeyed.  Then  we  ask  that  this  something  shall 
be  infinite.     Starting  from  a  definite  content,  the  infinite  which  is 

1  Essays,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  17.  This  theory,  however,  is  modified  later  in  the  Study 
of  Religion  (Vol.  I,  pp.  405-408),  where  Martineau  inclines  to  the  view  that  if  cer- 
tain difficulties  could  be  removed,  space  would  provide  the  condition  necessary  to 
Absolute  Being  for  its  activity. 

2  Chap.  I.  3  Lotze,  Microcosmos,  Book  IX,  Chap.  V. 
*  Thomas  Hill,  Postulates  of  Revelation  and  of  Ethics,  p.  46. 


THE    FOURTH    DEFINITION    OF    RELIGION  55 

reached  in  this  way  will  be  infinite  something  and  not  an  abstraction 
without  content.  It  is  thus  that  we  find  the  presence  of  God  in 
the  universe.  We  find  there  certain  ideal  elements  in  control, 
the  three  ideas  of  the  reason,  truth,  goodness  and  beauty,  and 
these  lift  us  into  the  realm  of  the  divine.  These  ideas  are  mani- 
fested under  concrete  forms,  they  are  related  and  conditioned, 
they  manifest  themselves  only  under  conditions.  Yet  they  compel 
us  to  believe  that  they  are  supreme,  and  that  in  their  triumph  the 
divine  omnipotence  declares  itself.  Through  them  we  do  not 
prove  the  Absolute,  we  find  it. 

Our  examination  of  the  first  idea  of  the  reason  ends  here.  We 
have  considered  it  in  the  four  forms  in  which  it  is  manifested: 
as  unity  in  time,  as  unity  in  space,  as  ideal  unity  or  omniscience, 
as  dynamic  unity  or  omnipotence.  Each  of  these  forms  of  the 
first  idea  of  the  reason  has  been  found  to  require  that  the  absolute 
principle  of  which  it  is  a  manifestation  shall  be  a  conscious  or 
spiritual  presence.  Whatever  the  direction  in  which  unity  is 
manifested,  it  appears  always  as  a  form  of  spiritual  being.  We 
have  reached  the  position,  therefore,  where  the  word  spiritual 
can  be  substituted  for  the  word  supernatural  in  the  third  definition 
of  religion,1  and  we  have,  as  the  fourth  definition,  Religion  is 

A  FEELING  TOWARD  A  SPIRITUAL  PRESENCE,  MANIFESTING  ITSELF 
IN  TRUTH,  GOODNESS  AND  BEAUTY. 

i  Pages  1,  9,  15. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ABSOLUTE    BEING,    AS    A    SPIRITUAL    PRESENCE,    IN     RELATION    TO 
THE    SECOND    IDEA    OF   THE    REASON. 

We  have  now  to  consider  this  spiritual  presence  in  relation  to 
the  second  idea  of  the  reason,  goodness.  We  have  not  yet  to  do 
with  the  problem  of  evil,  the  difficulty  of  reconciling  the  existence 
of  evil  in  the  world  with  the  conception  of  absolute  goodness. 
That  is  something  which  must  be  considered  later.1  The  question 
here  is  as  to  the  form  under  which  absolute  goodness  is  to  be  rep- 
resented. 

Goodness,  we  say,  is  a  manifestation  of  Absolute  Being.  We 
may  say  with  Schleiermacher  that  God  is  good  because  he  is  the 
author  of  goodness,  the  source  of  the  moral  law.  But  this  is  not 
enough.  The  religious  feeling  requires  not  only  that  there  shall 
be  a  power  behind  goodness  as  its  author,  but  that  this  power 
shall  itself  be  good,  and  worthy  to  be  worshipped  because  of  its 
goodness.  Is  it  possible,  however,  to  conceive  of  Absolute  Being 
as  itself  good  ?  If  we  think  of  God  as  the  author  of  goodness,  and 
of  goodness  as  dependent  upon  the  will  of  God,  then  God  himself 
is  behind  and  above  goodness,  and  the  term  "  good  "  as  applied 
to  him  has  no  meaning.  If  on  the  other  hand  we  begin  by  applying 
to  God  the  term  "good,"  do  we  not  imply  the  measurement  of 
God  by  some  standard  of  righteousness  that  is  external  and  su- 
perior to  him  ?  The  argument  that  this  standard  is  not  external 
but  is  involved  in  the  nature  of  God,  that  his  being  embodies  the 
moral  law,  offers  only  a  verbal  escape.  The  real  difficulty  remains. 
It  is  an  antinomy  similar  to  that  which  is  found  in  the  nature  of  the 
moral  law  itself.2  Is  goodness  right  because  it  is  right,  or  is  there 
a  reason  why  it  is  right  ?     If  there  is  a  reason,  then  there  must  be 

i  Page  239.  2  C.  C.  Everett,  The  Science  of  Thought,  pp.  209-221. 


ABSOLUTE    BEING   AND    GOODNESS  57 

something  higher  and  better  than  righteousness.  If  there  is  no 
reason,  then  righteousness  is  something  arbitrary  and  unreason- 
able. According  to  Kant,  nothing  is  higher  than  goodness.  It 
is  absolute  and  categorical.  But,  if  this  is  so,  goodness  claims  an 
authority  for  which  it  can  show  no  reason.  According  to  the 
Utilitarians,  on  the  other  hand,  goodness  exists  for  the  sake  of 
happiness.  Then  there  is  something  more  authoritative  than 
goodness. 

The  real  solution  of  the  difficulty  is  found  only  as  morality  is 
seen  to  be  not  the  highest  form  of  goodness.  It  is  true  that  good- 
ness is  used  in  the  sense  of  conformity  to  the  moral  law.  But 
goodness  in  this  sense  is  only  a  step  in  the  transition  to  something 
higher.  Beneath  the  moral  law  is  a  principle  of  which  the  moral 
law  is  only  an  imperfect  manifestation,  the  principle  of  love. 
The  man  who  does  right  simply  because  it  is  right  is  not  yet  the 
perfect  man.  The  perfect  man  will  do  all  the  things  which  ought 
to  be  done  because  these  are  just  the  things  which  he  desires  to  do. 
As  husband  and  father,  for  instance,  he  works  to  support  his  wife 
and  children,  not  because  it  is  his  duty  but  because  he  finds  in 
caring  for  them  his  greatest  happiness.  Duty  has  its  own  peculiar 
majesty  in  the  enlargement  which  it  brings  to  a  man's  life.  But 
in  love  the  man  himself  is  manifested.  The  moral  law  can  only 
attempt  to  do  imperfectly  what  love  without  the  law  does  per- 
fectly. The  moral  law  impels  toward  love  those  who  have  not 
yet  risen  to  the  higher  form  of  goodness,  and  it  stands  ready  to 
meet  and  restrain  any  who  may  have  fallen  from  that  higher 
plane;  in  Paul's  phrase,  it  is  the  schoolmaster,  the  tutor,  by  whom 
men  are  led  to  love.1  But  love  is  the  fulfilment  of  the  law.2  The 
person  who  simply  obeys  the  moral  law  is  conscious  of  duty.  He 
is  conscious  either  that  there  is  something  which  he  ought  to  do,  or 
that  he  has  done  something  which  ought  to  have  been  done. 
But  love  is  unconscious  of  duty.  Furthermore,  when  we  see  a 
thing  done  in  love  we  do  not  merely  approve  as  when  some  duty 
has  been  performed.     We  rejoice  in  it.3     A  child  does  not  measure 

1  Galatians,  iii,  24-25.  2  Romans,  xiii,  10. 

3  Horace  Bushnell,  Work  and  Play. 


58  ABSOLUTE    BEING   AND    GOODNESS 

his  father  by  some  standard  of  goodness  and  approve  of  him. 
He  simply  loves  his  father  and  rejoices  in  him,  and  similarly  the 
father  does  not  approve  of  the  child  who  is  living  the  normal  life 
of  childhood,  but  loves  him  and  delights  in  him.  Now,  if  we 
say  that  "  God  is  love,"1  we  pass  beyond  the  difficulties  which  are 
involved  in  the  question  as  to  the  goodness  of  God.  In  one  of 
the  phrases  of  the  creed  of  Mogilas  God  is  said  to  be  "good  and 
more  than  good."2  Whatever  may  have  been  in  the  mind  of 
Mogilas,  we  have  certainly  found  a  sense  in  which  God  is  more 
than  good.  It  is  a  philosophical  definition,  also,  that  is  given  in 
these  words  of  the  New  Testament.  For  when  we  say  that  God 
is  love,  we  are  only  saying  in  another  form  that  God  is  that  spirit- 
ual unity  of  the  universe  in  and  through  whom  all  things  consist. 
For  this  unity  implies  that  all  the  elements  of  the  universe  are  in 
some  way  bound  together,  and  the  recognition  of  this  relation 
takes  form  in  the  feeling  of  love.  In  love  it  is  as  though  the  bond 
by  which  all  things  are  united  became  luminous,  and  presented 
itself  to  our  consciousness  not  as  a  mechanical  tie  but  as  a  life- 
giving  relation. 

Are  we  to  conceive  of  the  divine  love  as  infinite  ?  Yes  and  no. 
As  I  have  already  pointed  out,3  it  is  a  question  of  terms.  If  the 
term  is  regarded  quantitatively,  we  may  speak  of  the  divine  love 
as  infinite,  meaning  by  this  that  all  being  is  included  in  it.  But 
if  the  term  is  regarded  qualitatively,  intensively,  we  must  use  the 
term  "perfect"  rather  than  "infinite."  For  something  besides 
absolute  surrender  is  essential  to  the  true  balance  of  love.  There 
must  be  self-relation  as  well  as  sacrifice.  The  person  who  loves 
may  not  give  himself  up  wholly  to  the  person  loved.  When  a 
mother  effaces  herself  in  her  love  for  her  child,  the  child  may  take 
the  mother's  love  as  a  matter  of  course  and  become  selfish;  his 
nature  may  become  less  fully  rounded  and  complete.  If  the  child 
is  to  love  the  mother  in  return,  it  is  not  enough  that  the  mother 
shall  be  lovable,  but  she  must  also  maintain  in  its  strength 
her  own  personality.     Lovableness  and  strength  of  personality, 

i  John,  iv,  8.  2  Schaff,  Creeds  of  Christendom,  Vol.  II,  p.  281. 

3  Page  51. 


ABSOLUTE    BEING   AND    GOODNESS  59 

both  of  these  must  be  present  to  make  the  relations  of  love  as 
nearly  perfect  as  possible.  Where  either  element  is  in  some 
degree  wanting,  love  is  given  more  often  where  strength  of  per- 
sonality is  present  with  less  of  lovableness  than  where  lovable- 
ness  is  found  without  strength  of  personality.  It  is  this  which 
explains  the  hero  worship  frequently  given  to  men  whose  lives 
are  essentially  selfish.  In  perfect  love,  however,  the  life  preserves 
its  own  centre  at  the  same  time  that  it  finds  this  centre  in  the 
life  of  another,  and  it  is  this  perfect  love  which  we  attribute  to 
God.  If  we  were  to  conceive  of  the  divine  love  as  infinite,  meaning 
by  infinite  that  the  divine  self-surrender  was  absolute,  we  should 
have  simply  pantheism,  the  loss  of  God  in  the  universe. 

The  term  "  infinite,"  however,  may  be  applied  to  the  divine  love, 
when  it  is  considered  in  relation  to  other  attributes  of  Absolute 
Being,  in  the  sense  that  it  is  not  limited  by  other  attributes.  Love 
and  justice,  for  instance,  have  sometimes  been  represented  dra- 
matically as  opposed  to  each  other,  love  pleading  against  justice. 
It  is  thus  that  Calvinism  has  asserted  the  absolute  justice  of  God, 
and  Universalism  has  emphasized  the  supremacy  of  love.  But 
love  and  justice,  far  from  limiting  each  other,  complete  and  imply 
each  the  other.  Justice  is  essential  to  perfect  love,  as  love  is 
essential  to  perfect  justice.  The  justice  of  a  mother  in  dealing 
with  her  children  is  not  in  contradiction  to  her  love  for  them. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ABSOLUTE  BEING,  AS  A  SPIRITUAL  PRESENCE,  IN  RELATION  TO 
THE  THIRD  IDEA  OF  THE  REASON:  THE  DIVINE  GLORY, 
THE  DIVINE  ASEITY,  THE  DIVINE  BLESSEDNESS. — THE 
TERMS  "INFINITE"  AND  "  PERFECT." 

The  last  of  the  three  forms  in  which,  if  our  definition  is  correct, 
the  spiritual  presence  in  the  universe  manifests  itself,  is  the  third 
idea  of  the  reason,  beauty.  It  is  an  element  which  has  been  too 
much  left  out  of  account  by  many  theologians.  They  have  been 
inclined  to  approach  religion  either  philosophically,  basing  their 
study  on  the  thought  of  unity,  or  ethically,  with  goodness  as  their 
starting-point.  Yet  pure  devotion,  the  joy  of  religion  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  object  of  its  worship,  manifests  itself  especially 
in  beauty,  and  to  disregard  beauty  is  to  neglect  one  of  the  most 
important  elements  in  religion. 

We  have  to  ask,  therefore,  what  assistance  will  the  consideration 
of  beauty  afford  toward  further  knowledge  of  the  spiritual  presence 
which  is  the  object  of  religious  feeling?  Schleiermacher  did  not 
raise  this  question,  but  just  as  he  says  of  God  that  he  is  good 
because  he  is  the  source  of  goodness,  so  he  would  probably  have 
said  that  God  is  beautiful  in  that  all  beauty  proceeds  from  him. 
But  we  must  go  further  than  this.  And  first  of  all  we  may  say 
that  beauty  is  obviously  the  manifestation  of  the  glory  of  God. 
This  term  "  glory  of  God  "  has  often  been  misunderstood  and  to 
many  is  repellent.  It  suggests  to  them  the  splendor  of  an  earthly 
sovereign,  and  as  we  should  condemn  such  a  sovereign  if  he  were 
to  make  the  magnificence  of  his  reign  his  first  aim,  so  to  say  that 
"the  chief  end  of  man  is  to  glorify  God,"  or  to  represent  God  as 
seeking  to  be  glorified,  seems  to  imply  a  self-absorption  in  the 
divine  nature.  This  objection,  however,  is  no  longer  felt  when 
we  think  of  the  definition  of  beauty.     For  beauty  is  the  idealiza- 


THE    DIVINE    GLORY  61 

tion  of  the  actual,  the  manifestation  of  the  ideal  in  the  real.1 
The  glory  of  God,  therefore,  is  the  self-manifestation  of  the 
divine  nature  regarded  as  the  sum  of  all  ideals.  It  is  not  some- 
thing added  to  the  divine  nature  from  without,  a  halo,  as  it  were, 
given  to  God  as  to  a  saint.  It  is  the  outpouring  from  within  of 
the  divine  nature  itself,  God's  very  being.  Here  is  seen  the  rela- 
tion to  one  another  of  truth  and  goodness  and  beauty  under  a 
more  concrete  form.  For  if  the  ideal  which  is  embodied  in 
nature  is  the  unity  of  the  world,  then  beauty  as  the  manifestation 
of  that  ideal  is  the  manifestation  of  truth  and  goodness. 

Where  the  divine  nature  is  conceived  merely  as  abstract  unity 
there  can  be,  of  course,  no  self-manifestation,  no  outpouring  of 
the  divine  nature,  no  glory  of  God.  Thus  there  was  no  glory  of 
Brahma,  there  was  only  Brahma.  Brahma  did  not  manifest  him- 
self in  outward  things,  for  outward  things  were  an  illusion  to  be 
escaped.  There  was  therefore  no  irradiation  from  him.  He 
was  like  a  sun  shorn  of  its  beams.  When,  however,  as  in 
Christian  thought,  the  divine  nature  is  conceived  as  self-mani- 
festing, we  see  how  it  may  be  said  that  the  chief  end  of  man  is 
to  glorify  God.  For  man  glorifies  God  by  filling  the  place  in 
the  universe  which  he  is  set  to  fill.  As  the  heavens  declare 
the  glory  of  God  by  filling  their  place,  manifesting  the  vast- 
ness  and  majesty  of  their  ordered  movement,  so  man  glorifies 
God  in  proportion  as  he  manifests  most  clearly  and  com- 
pletely his  own  true  nature.  In  this  manifestation  of  self 
there  is  self-surrender,  not,  as  in  Brahmanism,  the  effacement  of 
self  in  which  the  worshipper  gives  himself  up  to  abstract  being, 
but  the  surrender  to  all  that  is  best  in  life  in  the  concrete,  the  sur- 
render to  high  aims  and  noble  activities,  that  surrender  of  self 
which  is  the  fulfilment  of  self.  This  thought  that  man  glorifies 
God  by  filling  his  place  in  the  universe  involves  a  further  step. 
For  we  must  ask,  what  is  man's  place  ?  It  is  different  from  that 
of  any  other  created  thing  in  that  man  alone  can  recognize  the 
source  from  which  he  comes.  In  this  consciousness  of  his  own 
spiritual  nature  man's  place  is  to  recognize  and  reflect  the  divine 

i  The  Science  of  Thought,  pp.  153-164. 


62  THE    DIVINE   ASEITY 

life  which  is  embodied  in  him,  and  as  he  fills  this  place  his  life 
becomes  the  highest  manifestation  on  earth  of  the  divine  life.  For 
in  the  recognition  of  the  relation  between  his  own  nature  and  the 
divine  nature  man  rounds  out  the  circle  of  being  with  the  return 
of  life  to  that  which  is  its  source. 

Again,  beauty  helps  us  to  apprehend  the  spiritual  presence  in 
the  universe,  in  that  it  suggests  the  divine  aseity,  the  self-depend- 
ence and  self-completeness  of  Absolute  Being.  For  this  self- 
completeness  and  self-dependence  are  found  in  beauty.  Beauty 
exists,  not  like  duty,  for  some  service,  but  simply  for  itself.  It 
is  "its  own  excuse  for  being."1  Further,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
beauty  the  mind  is  lifted  out  of  anxieties  and  conflicts,  and  there 
comes  a  sense  of  peace.  This  is  especially  true  of  the  contempla- 
tion of  nature,  for,  to  use  Emerson's  words  again,  "nature  will 
not  have  us  fret  and  fume.  .  .  .  When  we  come  out  of  the  caucus, 
or  the  bank,  or  the  Abolition-convention,  or  the  Temperance- 
meeting,  or  the  Transcendental  club  into  the  fields  and  woods, 
she  says  to  us,  'So  hot,  my  little  Sir?'"2  Nor  is  this  peace  found 
in  the  contemplation  of  nature  merely  in  her  gentler  aspects.  For 
there  is  beauty  in  everything  in  nature  in  its  place,  and  even  the 
wildness  of  the  tempest  not  only  is  beautiful,  but,  if  once  we  can 
escape  the  terror  of  it,  is  seen  by  us  to  be  beautiful,  and  thus  its 
very  tumult  brings  inward  calm. 

Furthermore,  the  divine  self-completeness  and  peace  imply  a 
divine  blessedness.  In  almost  all  religions  happiness,  in  one  form 
or  another,  has  been  associated  with  the  thought  of  the  divine  life. 
Sometimes,  as  in  the  philosophy  of  Epicurus,  it  is  the  distinguish- 
ing attribute  of  the  gods.  They  are  conceived  as  existing  chiefly 
because  the  craving  of  human  hearts  must  be  satisfied  which 
demands  that  somewhere  there  shall  be  perfect  happiness.  They 
are  happy  because  they  are  remote  from  earth  and  untouched  by 
any  responsibility  or  care  for  human  interests.  Akin  to  this  is 
the  happiness  suggested  by  Homer's  "  inextinguishable  laughter  " 
of  the  gods.3     For  the  sense  of  the  comic  implies  remoteness  from 

i  Emerson,  The  Rhodora.  2  Spiritual  Laws. 

3  The  Iliad,  I,  599,  600. 


THE    DIVINE    BLESSEDNESS  63 

the  reality  of  the  relations  of  life.1  Nothing  is  so  tragic  that  it 
may  not  appear  comic  to  those  who  look  only  at  the  outward 
form  of  some  relation  and  disregard  its  substance.  The  concep- 
tion of  the  gods  as  remote  from  human  interests  is  of  course  in- 
complete and  low.  But  the  happiness  which  is  ascribed  to  divine 
life  in  these  lower  forms  of  religion  is  conceived  on  a  higher  plane 
in  the  higher  forms  of  religion.  The  blessedness  of  God  in  Chris- 
tian thought  does  not  imply  remoteness  from  human  relations 
or  indifference  to  their  reality,  but  only  the  freedom  arising  from 
the  self-completeness  of  the  divine  nature. 

It  may  be  asked  whether  there  is  not  a  certain  irony  in  this 
thought  of  celestial  joy  and  peace  brooding  over  and  above  the 
suffering  and  misery  of  the  world.  Does  it  not  make  a  breach 
between  the  divine  and  the  human  ?  But  such  a  thought  dishonors 
human  nature.  It  may  be  that  in  some  great  affliction  the  peace 
of  nature  seems  a  mockery,  and  that  at  such  times  men  have  the 
"contempt  of  the  landscape"  of  which  Emerson  speaks,2  or  ask 
with  him  why  some  angel  from 

"the  host 
That  loiters  round  the  crystal  coast" 

might  not  have  stooped  to  prevent  the  loss.3  But  feeling  of  this 
sort  is  usually  transient,  coming  in  seasons  of  weakness,  before 
the  mind  has  recovered  from  the  shock  of  grief  or  pain.  It  passes 
away  as  strength  returns,  and  is  not  found  as  a  universal  and 
permanent  element  in  human  nature.  Nature  herself  tends  to 
conquer  it,  and  to  draw  the  soul  into  new  sympathy  with  her 
deeper  and  more  significant  aspects. 

There  is  nowadays  a  certain  discontent  which  leads  men  to 
cry  out  against  any  happiness  in  which  they  do  not  share.  It 
springs  from  various  sources.  There  is  demagogism,  which 
flourishes  in  discontent  and  naturally  works  to  create  it.  There 
is  philanthropy,  which,  in  aiming  at  the  relief  of  suffering,  at  the 
same  time  causes  men  to  become  more  keenly  conscious  of  the 

i  C.  C.  Everett,  Poetry,  Comedy  and  Duty,  pp.  187-190. 
2  Nature.  3  Threnody. 


64  THE    DIVINE    BLESSEDNESS 

existence  of  suffering.  There  are  the  newspapers  and  the  various 
other  agencies  by  which  men  are  brought  into  closer  touch  with 
one  another,  so  that  the  poorer  see  just  what  are  the  enjoyments 
and  the  character  and  disposition  of  the  richer.  Finally,  there 
is  the  general  movement  of  democracy  by  which  everything,  so 
to  speak,  is  brought  within  the  possible  reach  of  everybody;  we 
do  not  envy  men  powers  or  benefits  which  are  beyond  our  reach ; 
it  is  in  the  thought  of  benefits  which  might  be  ours  but  are  not 
that  we  become  dissatisfied.  Still,  although  the  existence  of  dis- 
content must  be  recognized,  to  hold  that  discontent  is  general 
would  be  to  travesty  human  nature.  The  tendency  always  has 
been  to  enjoy  whatever  is  higher  or  more  beautiful  than  one's  own 
immediate  possessions  or  surroundings.  The  happiness  of  the 
crowds  of  people  who  go  out  from  Boston  on  a  fine  Sunday  after- 
noon in  winter  to  see  the  driving  on  the  Brighton  road,  is  only 
one  of  the  many  illustrations  that  might  be  given  of  the  inherent 
unselfishness  of  human  nature.  As  we  look  about  us  in  the  world 
we  wonder  not  that  there  is  so  much  discontent  but  that  there  is 
so  little. 

Furthermore,  the  thought  of  any  breach  between  the  divine  and 
the  human  because  of  divine  blessedness  not  only  is  unjust  to 
human  nature  as  it  is,  but  fails  wholly  to  recognize  human  nature 
as  it  ought  to  be.  It  is  quite  true  that  to  "  rejoice  with  them  that 
rejoice  "  is  hard, — far  harder  than  to  "weep  with  them  that  weep." 1 
One  can  bear  his  own  burden  or  his  own  loss  or  disappointment 
until  he  sees  another  rejoicing  in  the  freedom  from  such  losses 
or  burdens.  Then  he  realizes  the  full  meaning  of  the  command 
and  the  difficulty  in  obeying  it.  Yet  joy  in  the  joy  of  others  is 
recognized  as  the  culmination  of  the  ideal  life.  Perhaps  you 
may  recall  the  story  of  the  lost  soul  that  waited  outside  the  gates 
of  heaven  and  watched  the  blessed  as  they  entered.  "Thank 
God,"  she  cried  out  at  last,  "thank  God  that  there  is  a  heaven, 
though  I  may  not  enter  it,"  and  immediately,  so  the  story  goes, 
she  found  herself  within  the  gates.  Human  nature  would  feel 
itself  poorer  if  it  could  not  picture  to  itself  such  unselfishness  of 

1  Romans,  xii,  15. 


THE    DIVINE    BLESSEDNESS  65 

joy,  and  as  the  village  would  mourn  if  the  great  mansion  which  is 
its  pride  were  to  burn  or  fall  into  decay,  so  life  would  lose  for  men 
in  beauty  and  dignity  if  the  conception  of  divine  blessedness  in  all 
its  completeness  were  to  be  taken  from  them.  No  doubt  it  is 
difficult  at  first  thought  to  give  this  conception  definite  form. 
No  one  comprehends  easily  a  satisfaction  or  joy  which  he  has  not 
himself  experienced.  Men  live  in  different  worlds  so  far  as 
pleasures  are  concerned,  and  have  little  conception  of  the  worlds 
in  which  they  do  not  live.  They  wonder  that  others  can  find 
happiness  in  pursuits  which  are  to  them  unattractive  or  wearisome. 
The  student  absorbed  in  his  work  and  the  pleasure  seeker  think 
each  that  the  life  of  the  other  must  be  barren  and  joyless;  Spencer 
finds  society  a  bore,  and  society  finds  Spencer  tedious.  So  one 
man  goes  to  church  and  another  to  the  theatre,  and  neither  under- 
stands the  satisfaction  of  the  other.  The  happiness  of  the  child 
is  in  receiving,  and  he  does  not  yet  know  the  joy  of  the  father  or 
the  mother  in  giving.  In  a  similar  way  the  divine  blessedness 
appears  to  be  beyond  our  power  to  conceive  or  represent. 

At  this  point,  however,  we  need  to  ask  what  the  difference  is 
between  blessedness  and  happiness.  We  may  not  say  with  Spencer 
that  blessedness  must  be  either  happiness  or  unhappiness,  for 
another  alternative  might  be  open.  Because  hope  is  not  fear, 
it  is  not  therefore  courage.  Yet  although  the  form  of  his  argu- 
ment is  faulty,  Spencer  is  right  in  his  conclusion  that  blessedness 
is  one  kind  of  happiness.  The  question,  therefore,  takes  another 
form,  and  we  ask,  what  is  there  in  blessedness  that  distinguishes 
it  from  the  sort  of  happiness  which  is  not  blessedness  ?  For  an 
animal  may  be  happy  but  not  blessed;  the  people  at  a  festival 
may  be  very  happy  and  yet  not  blessed;  we  may  even  speak  of  a 
drunkard  as  happy,  but  we  hardly  call  him  blessed. 

A  certain  element  of  pathos  is  sometimes  associated  with  blessed- 
ness as  compared  with  happiness.  Men  speak  of  the  dead  as 
"  blessed,"  and  the  saints  in  glory  are  conceived  as  rejoicing  in  a 
blessedness  which  they  have  attained  through  a  double  death, 
the  death  of  the  body  and  the  death  to  self.  It  is  this  death  to 
self  which  suggests,  as  we  look  more  closely,  the  real  distinction 


66  THE    DIVINE    BLESSEDNESS 

between  blessedness  and  happiness.  Happiness  may  be  either 
self-centred  or  self-surrendering,  but  only  that  happiness  in  which 
there  is  some  form  of  self-surrender  can  be  called  blessedness. 
In  other  words,  blessedness  is  found  in  and  through  love.  For 
the  self-surrender  that  springs  only  from  the  sense  of  duty  involves 
no  blessedness.  It  is  true  that  in  human  relations  love  brings 
with  it  sorrows,  some  of  them  among  the  greatest  that  men  have 
to  bear.  Our  suffering  in  the  sorrows  and  disappointments  of 
those  whom  we  love;  the  anguish  that  follows  upon  the  shattering 
of  an  ideal,  as  when  a  son  finds  that  his  father  is  a  swindler  or 
worse ;  the  pain  of  a  love  that  calls  forth  no  return  of  affection : — 
it  is  such  griefs  as  these  that  come  frequently  to  those  who  love. 
That  is  why  the  highest  blessedness  has  been  more  often  found 
in  religion.  For  in  the  relation  of  the  soul  toward  God  these  hin- 
drances do  not  occur.  The  object  of  its  love  is  permanent,  and 
the  ideal  to  which  it  turns  is  one  that  cannot  fail.  Yet  even  in 
human  relations  the  very  things  which  seem  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
love  only  testify  to  its  power  and  to  the  satisfaction  that  it  brings. 

"Pains  of  love  be  sweeter  far 
Than  all  other  pleasures  are" 

we  cry  with  Dryden,  or,  with  Tennyson, 

'"Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all." 

Another  element,  however,  besides  love,  enters  into  the  highest 
forms  of  happiness, — the  element  of  activity.  For  there  is  always 
happiness  in  any  action  in  so  far  as  it  is  action,  and  the  higher  the 
form  of  the  activity  the  higher  the  happiness  that  it  brings.  By 
the  higher  forms  of  activity  I  mean  those  forms  which  are  the 
fullest  and  most  intense,  and  which  occupy  the  greatest  portion  of 
our  being,  the  intellectual  activities  rather  than  the  animal,  the 
spiritual  rather  than  the  physical.  Activity,  then,  and  love,  these 
two  elements,  are  essential  to  the  highest  happiness.  In  so  far  as 
happiness  has  its  source  in  love  we  may  call  it  static ;  in  so  far  as 
it  springs  from  activity  it  may  be  called  dynamic.     It  is  true  that 


THE    DIVINE    BLESSEDNESS  67 

in  a  certain  sense  love  may  be  regarded  as  activity.  Yet  it  is 
rather  a  feeling  that  accompanies  activity. 

If  now  we  turn  to  the  thought  of  God,  we  find  that  these  two 
conditions  of  blessedness,  as  applied  to  the  conception  of  the 
divine  nature,  suggest  at  least  no  a  'priori  difficulties.  The  school- 
men were  in  the  habit  of  speaking  of  God  as  actus  jpurus,  pure 
activity.  So  far  as  we  can  attach  a  meaning  to  the  phrase,  and  so 
far  as  we  can  accept  it  as  representing  the  truth,  we  must  attribute 
to  such  a  being  the  highest  blessedness.  At  least  we  can  conceive 
to  some  extent  the  fulness  of  satisfaction  in  a  divine  activity  which 
creates  its  own  environment  absolutely,  controlling  not  only  the 
form  but  the  reality  of  things,  as  compared  with  the  human 
creative  activity  which  can  make  for  itself  only  the  form  of  its 
environment.  On  the  static  side,  also,  the  divine  blessedness 
may  be  conceived  as  free  from  the  limitations  which  hinder  com- 
plete human  happiness.  For  the  divine  love  would  be  one  with 
the  divine  knowledge,  and  in  the  absolute  survey  of  present  and 
future  all  temporary  discords  would  be  taken  up  into  the  final 
harmony.  If  we  take  this  view  of  divine  blessedness  as  arising 
from  perfect  activity  and  perfect  love,  the  objection  which  we 
have  been  considering  may  be  regarded  as  done  away  with,  at 
least  in  theory.  The  thought  of  divine  blessedness,  so  far  from 
being  an  element  of  separation  between  the  divine  and  the  hu- 
man, is  found  to  bring  them  more  closely  together. 

Of  course  there  are  a  host  of  practical  difficulties.  Thus  the 
presence  of  evil  in  the  world  at  once  raises  the  question  whether 
even  temporary  suffering  may  not  disturb  the  divine  blessedness, 
and  if  the  suffering  is  regarded  not  as  temporary  but  as  continuous, 
the  difficulty  becomes  more  intense.  It  is  true  that  the  father  who 
has  to  hold  his  child  during  some  painful  operation  may  be  full 
of  joy  in  the  knowledge  that  the  operation  is  to  free  the  child  from 
deformity  or  disease.  Yet  for  the  time  being  he  must  feel  for 
the  child  in  his  pain  and  must  suffer  with  him.  Such  difficulties, 
however,  belong  to  the  practical  sphere  which  as  yet  we  have  not 
entered.  We  may  find  that  they  cannot  be  removed,  or  that  we 
can  come  no  nearer  to  their  removal  than  the  suggestion  which  is 


68  THE   TERMS    INFINITE    AND    PERFECT 

conveyed  in  illustrations  like  the  one  that  I  have  just  used.     But 
we  are  considering  now  not  the  practical  but  the  ideal  difficulties, 
the  objections  which  are  raised  by  those  who  assert  that  Absolute 
Being  is  unthinkable,  and  that  any  attempt  to  conceive  it  involves 
contradiction,    especially   the   attempt    to   associate   with   it   any 
spiritual  qualities  or  attributes.     We  are  trying  to  show  not  only 
that  Absolute  Being  is  thinkable,  but  that  the  conception  of  God 
as  a  spiritual  presence  is  one  to  which  reason  itself  would  lead  us. 
In  meeting  thus  upon  their  own  ground  those  who  object  to  the 
possibility  of  such  a  conception  of  God,  we  may  at  least  clear  the 
way  and  leave  the  religious  feeling  free  to  follow  its  own  instincts. 
In  concluding  this  examination  I  wish  to  speak  once  more  of 
the  distinction  between  the  terms  "infinite"  and  "perfect."     We 
have  already  had  to  ask  once  or  twice  which  term  should  be  used.1 
The  question  would  be  of  little  importance  if  it  were  not  for  the 
difficulties  which  arise  from  the  use  of  the  term  "infinite."     Thus 
a  definition  of  God  that  has  been  commonly  given  describes  him 
as  a  perfect  being  with  infinite  attributes.     My  own  definition 
would  be  precisely  the  opposite  of  this.     I  should  describe  God  as 
an  infinite  being  with  perfect  attributes.     The  infinite  nature  of 
Absolute  Being  I  have  already  discussed  at  length  in  these  lectures. 
The  question  as  to  the  use  of  the  terms  "  infinite  "  and  "  perfect " 
as  applied  to  the  attributes  of  God  I  have  considered  in  the  Science 
of  Thought  in  what  I  have  there  had  to  say  in  regard  to  "  Limit."2 
The  principle  which  I  wish  to  emphasize  is  that  all  qualities  are 
limited,  and  that  if  any  quality  is  too  much  extended  it  tends 
to  change  its  nature,  and  often,  if  not  always,  to  pass  over  into  its 
opposite.     At  least  it  loses  itself  as  soon  as  it  passes  beyond  a 
certain  point  which  forms  its  limit.     In  saying  this,  I  refer,  of 
course,  to  the  quality  as  considered  generically  and  not  as  taken 
by  itself.     For  the  very  fact  that  we  speak  of  the  quality  as  ex- 
tended beyond  a  certain  point,  implies  that  the  quality  has  not 
changed   its  real,  that   is   its  primary,  nature.     I  may  illustrate 
this  from  Aristotle's  theory  of  virtue  as  a  mean.     According  to 
this  theory,  generosity  if  pushed  too  far  becomes  extravagance 

i  Pages  51,  58.  2  The  Science  of  Tfiought,  pp.  37-41. 


THE   TERMS    INFINITE   AND    PERFECT  69 

or  prodigality,  economy  becomes  meanness.  In  each  case  the 
virtue,  when  extended  beyond  a  certain  point,  tends  to  pass  over 
into  its  opposite  and  become  a  vice.  Yet  the  qualities  retain  their 
primary  nature;  both  generosity  and  prodigality  are  giving,  and 
both  economy  and  meanness  are  saving. 

By  its  very  nature  quality  is  a  partial  manifestation.  So  long  as 
Being  is  conceived  as  unbroken  and  without  manifestation  it  has 
no  qualities.  Qualities  appear  only  as  Being  is  manifested  under 
various  forms.  Thus  in  the  physical  realm,  a  world  of  unbroken 
light  would  be  undistinguishable  from  a  world  of  darkness.  I  do 
not  wish  to  push  this  sort  of  illustration  too  far,  but  can  we  conceive 
of  anything  as  absolutely  hard  ?  And  how  is  it  in  regard  to  the 
terms  "  high "  and  "  low  "  ?  We  may  start  with  the  thought  of 
height,  but  as  we  ascend  do  we  not  reach  a  point  at  which  the 
term  becomes  meaningless?  It  appears  to  me  to  be  one  of  the 
fundamental  principles  of  thought  that  quality  implies  limit,  and 
if  this  is  so,  then  the  attributes  of  God,  as  in  a  certain  sense  quali- 
ties, involve  severally  the  idea  of  perfection  rather  than  the  idea 
of  infinitude.  Of  course  we  have  to  bear  in  mind  always  that 
we  are  obliged  to  look  at  the  subject  from  our  own  standpoint. 
We  break  up  the  divine  nature  in  our  analysis  and  separate  quality 
from  quality,  just  as  in  analyzing  our  own  natures  we  have  to 
break  them  up  and  separate  their  qualities.  In  human  life  one 
part  of  the  environment  calls  forth  one  feeling  and  another  part 
another  feeling,  or  the  same  part  of  the  environment  may  call  forth 
two  or  more  different  feelings.  But  there  is  no  a  priori  reason  why 
qualities  should  thus  exclude  one  another,  and  in  our  thought  of 
God  we  may  conceive  of  all  these  elements  which  we  have  sep- 
arated and  set  over  against  one  another  as  in  reality  one. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    A   PRIORI    ARGUMENT. — THE    ARGUMENT    FROM    ATTRIBUTES: 

SAMUEL  CLARKE. THE  ARGUMENT  FROM  DEFINITION:  ANSELM: 

THE      DEFINITION     OF      PERFECTION. THE      ARGUMENT     FROM 

THE  NATURE  OF  THE  DIVINE  BEING:  SPINOZA. — THE  ARGU- 
MENT FROM  THE  NATURE  OF  MAN'S  APPREHENSION  OF  THE 
DIVINE    BEING:     DESCARTES. 

Thus  far  we  have  considered  the  objects  of  our  study  wholly 
from  the  theoretical  or  ideal  point  of  view.  We  have  asked,  not 
what  is  true,  but  what  may  be  true,  not  what  can  we  know,  but 
what  can  we  conceive.  Before  we  leave  this  part  of  the  discussion 
we  have  still  to  examine  the  so-called  a  'priori  argument  for  the 
existence  and  nature  of  God. 

What,  then,  is  the  nature  of  this  argument  ?  It  involves  some- 
thing absolutely  given  in  thought.  It  reasons,  not  from  some  re- 
sult that  has  been  reached  through  previous  processes,  but  from 
something  which  is  bound  up  with  the  mind  itself.  For  example, 
the  law  of  contradiction  is  accepted  by  the  mind  without  question; 
the  mind  does  not  attempt  to  prove  it,  but  simply  rejects  whatever 
is  contrary  to  it.  Now  to  some  the  idea  of  God  has  appeared  to 
be  one  of  these  fundamental  principles  of  thought.  They  have 
held  that  man  is  so  constituted  that  he  necessarily  believes  in  God. 
As  we  examine  this  position,  however,  we  find  that  the  idea  of 
God  is  very  concrete,  the  most  concrete,  indeed,  that  we  have. 
For  the  concreteness  of  anything  depends  upon  the  extent  to  which 
it  is  related,  and  our  idea  of  God  is  that  of  a  being  that  is  related 
to  everything  in  the  universe.  Yet  if  this  concrete  idea  of  God 
can  be  separated  into  its  elements,  then  there  is  room  for  the 
a  priori  argument.  For  we  find  that  these  elements  are  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  man's  spiritual  nature  and  that  from  them 


THE    ARGUMENT    FROM    ATTRIBUTES  71 

we  can  proceed  to  the  one  great  idea  in  which  they  all  have  their 
place.  Furthermore,  even  if  the  idea  of  God  is  regarded  as  given 
outright,  it  may  still  be  considered  in  relation  to  other  matters  of 
belief  in  such  a  way  as  to  bring  the  belief  in  the  existence  of  God 
into  prominence  and  reality.  In  making  this  examination  I  shall 
follow  the  method  which  I  have  used  before  and  shall  consider  first 
of  all  some  of  the  views  that  have  been  held,  with  such  criticism 
upon  them  as  they  may  suggest.  I  shall  not  undertake,  however, 
to  give  a  complete  history  of  the  matter,  but  only  to  present  those 
forms  of  thought  which  are  likely  to  prove  most  helpful. 

Four  methods  of  the  a  priori  argument,  as  applied  to  the  divine 
nature,  are  historically  important, — the  argument  from  attributes, 
the  argument  from  definition,  the  argument  from  the  nature  of 
the  divine  being,  and  the  argument  from  the  nature  of  our  appre- 
hension of  the  divine  being.  At  first  thought,  the  second  and 
third  forms  may  seem  to  cover  each  other,  but  as  we  come  to  dis- 
cuss them  we  shall  see  the  difference  between  them,  and  the 
necessity  for  making  the  distinction.  The  first  of  the  four  methods, 
the  argument  from  attributes,  is  of  little  importance  except  for 
its  historical  interest.  As  used  by  Dr.  Samuel  Clarke  in  his 
Demonstration  of  the  Being  and  Attributes  of  God,  it  was  one  of  the 
earliest  attempts  in  English  theology  to  introduce  the  higher  meth- 
ods of  pure  reason  already  current  in  German  thought.  It  consti- 
tuted only  a  small  part  of  Dr.  Clarke's  discussion  as  a  whole,  but 
it  is  the  part  which  has  been  regarded  as  distinguishing  his  entire 
treatment.  The  argument  is  of  this  kind:  Eternity  and  infinite 
space  are  not  entities.  Yet  we  recognize  them  as  existing;  they 
are  ideas  from  which  we  cannot  free  our  minds.  If  they  are  not 
entities,  then  they  must  be  attributes.  But  as  attributes  they 
cannot  have  an  independent  existence;  they  force  upon  our 
belief  the  existence  of  a  being  who  is  eternal  and  omnipresent,  and 
who  must  be  independent,  immutable  and  self-existent.  In  in- 
sisting upon  these  qualities  of  independence  and  immutability 
and  self-existence  Dr.  Clarke  occupies  common  ground  with  other 
philosophical  writers.  When,  however,  he  proceeds  to  affirm 
that  this  infinite  subject  must  also  be  intelligent  and  good  and  so 


72  THE    ARGUMENT    FROM    DEFINITION 

on,  he  abandons  the  a  priori  argument  and  enters  the  field  of  a 
-posteriori  argument.  Thus  he  reasons  from  the  nature  of  the 
world  which  is  dependent  upon  the  infinite  cause  that  this  cause 
must  be  intelligent.  Dr.  Clarke's  argument  had  a  certain  plausi- 
bility. But  he  confounded  eternity  with  duration,  and  infinitude 
in  space  with  extension.  Strictly  speaking,  infinitude  in  time  or 
in  space  is  rather  an  a  priori  possibility  than  an  actuality.  It  is 
neither  an  entity  nor  an  attribute.  All  must  recognize  the  necessity 
of  the  idea  of  eternal  existence,  but  this  ought  not  to  be  confounded 
with  the  idea  of  something  which  has  existed  eternally.  We  have 
no  doubt  that  there  is  something  which  has  existed  thus  eternally. 
But  our  assumption  rests,  not  upon  the  idea  of  an  attribute  which 
implies  some  entity,  the  thought  of  an  eternity  which  must  be 
filled,  but  upon  our  recognition  of  the  law  of  causation. 

The  second  form  of  the  a  priori  argument,  that  from  definition, 
is  the  famous  argument  of  Anselm.  It  is  given  in  his  Proslogion1 
and  is  also  stated  by  Descartes  in  his  fifth  Meditation.  In  an  earlier 
treatise  Anselm  had  shown  the  necessity  of  assuming  the  existence 
of  a  greatest  or  most  perfect  being,  but  he  had  come  to  feel  the 
need  of  some  shorter  argument,  sharp  and  decisive,  which  should 
carry  conviction  to  all  thought.  After  long  meditation  he  arrived 
at  this  statement:  We  have  the  idea  of  a  greatest  being;  but  this 
idea  involves  the  idea  of  existence,  because  if  this  being  did  not 
exist,  and  another  being  that  possessed  the  same  attributes  did 
exist,  this  second  being  would  be  greater  than  the  first;  therefore 
our  idea  of  the  greatest  being  involves  the  idea  of  the  existence  of 
that  being;  therefore  the  greatest  being  exists.  To  put  the  argu- 
ment in  another  form,  just  as  the  idea  of  a  circle  involves  the  idea 
of  arcs,  so  the  idea  of  the  greatest  being  involves  the  existence  of 
that  being.  In  the  argument  as  stated  by  Descartes,  Anselm's 
phrase,  "greatest  being,"  is  replaced  by  the  phrase,  "most  perfect 
being." 

The  argument  was  conceived  and  accepted  in  good  faith.  In 
Anselm's  own  day  it  was  opposed  by  a  monk,  Gaunilo,  whose 
argument  is  given  in  Anselm's  works  together  with  the  reply  of 

i  Sancti  Ansehni  Opera,  2d  ed.  Gerberon,  p.  29. 


THE    DEFINITION    OF   PERFECTION  73 

Anselm.1  But  it  held  its  own  until  Kant  made  clear  the  fallacy 
which  it  contained.2  Since  then  it  has  not  been  used  except  as 
the  Hegelian  school  have  attempted  to  rehabilitate  it  in  a  modified 
form  in  line  with  Hegel's  position  as  to  the  close  relation  between 
thought  and  being.  The  flaw  in  the  argument  is  so  obvious  that 
I  hardly  know  how  to  point  it  out.  It  consists  in  the  use  of  the 
term  "  existence  "  in  two  senses,  ideal  existence  and  real  existence. 
The  idea  of  the  most  perfect  being  of  course  involves  the  idea  of 
the  existence  of  that  being,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  the  being 
really  exists.  If  a  circle  exists,  its  parts  must  have  certain  rela- 
tions to  one  another.  But  because  in  the  idea  of  a  circle  all  points 
in  the  circumference  must  be  conceived  as  equidistant  from  the 
centre,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  circle  itself  exists. 

The  question  may  arise  here  whether  the  idea  of  perfection  does 
not  imply  a  reference  to  some  external  standard.  Some  have  held 
that  it  does,  and  that  therefore  the  term  "perfect"  cannot  be 
applied  either  to  God  or  to  the  attributes  of  God.  This  term, 
however,  is  used  in  three  senses.  It  is  true  that  the  difference 
between  them  is  one  of  degree  rather  than  of  kind.  Still  it  is  so 
great  that  practically  the  three  uses  may  be  regarded  as  distinct. 
First,  the  term  is  used  of  that  which  conforms  to  some  recognized 
outward  standard.  The  idea  of  perfection  in  this  sense  is  more 
or  less  conventional.  Thus  we  speak  of  perfect  manners  or  per- 
fect gentlemen,  but  there  is  one  standard  of  perfect  manners  in 
China  and  another  in  France.  Again,  the  florist  calls  a  flower 
perfect  because  it  has  the  form  and  color  which  have  come  to  be 
regarded  as  the  standard.  It  is  evident  that  this  conventional 
idea  of  perfection  cannot  in  any  way  relate  to  God. 

In  the  second  sense  of  the  term  a  thing  is  regarded  as  perfect 
of  its  kind.  This  use  may  in  part  run  into  the  first  use.  Yet 
the  two  are  distinct,  in  that  the  standard  in  the  first  use  is  deter- 
mined by  convention,  whereas  in  the  second  use  the  standard  has 
been  reached  through  observation.     Thus  a  spider  is  said  to  be 

1  Opera,  p.  35. 

2  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  Trans,  of  F.  Max  Miiller,  Vol.  I,  p.  131, 


74  THE    DEFINITION    OF    PERFECTION 

perfect  because  it  is  a  complete  exemplification  of  its  species. 
According  to  this  use  a  flower  is  considered  perfect,  not,  as  before, 
when  it  conforms  to  some  outward  standard  of  form  or  color, 
but  when  it  contains  all  the  parts  of  the  class  which  it  represents. 
If  one  passes  beyond  such  concrete  examples  into  a  more  abstract 
realm,  further  instances  appear  of  this  sort  of  perfection.  Thus 
a  perfect  color  is  one  in  which  there  is  no  admixture  of  anything 
else.  In  this  second  use  of  the  term,  although  nothing  that  is 
conventional  is  involved,  there  is  much  that  is  accidental.  For 
instance,  if  processes  of  development  are  going  on,  the  types  may 
change;  the  perfect  horse  of  one  generation  may  be  a  little  different 
from  the  perfect  horse  of  another,  as  this  or  that  quality  is  devel- 
oped. 

Finally  there  is  the  ideal  perfection.  Here  again,  this  third  use 
of  the  term  may  seem  to  overlap  the  second  use,  as  the  second 
appeared  at  first  sight  to  overlap  the  first.  But  as  the  second  was 
found  to  be  distinct  from  the  first,  so  the  third  use  is  similarly 
distinct.  For  different  forms  of  being  are  the  expressions  or  mani- 
festations of  certain  conceptions  of  ideal  relations.  Thus  all 
animals  represent  the  idea  of  life.  Now  we  may  observe  what 
is  essential  to  perfection  in  a  certain  class  of  animals  through  the 
study  of  a  number  of  specimens  of  that  class,  reaching  our  con- 
clusions wholly  through  a  posteriori  processes.  But  the  idea  of 
perfection  that  we  have  arrived  at  in  this  way  may  also  be  gained 
to  a  large  extent  through  an  a  priori  method.  For  we  know  what 
is  essential  to  the  manifestation  of  life,  and  we  know  under  what 
forms  life  is  most  perfectly  manifested.  Thus  the  idea  of  life 
involves  activity,  and  therefore  in  proportion  as  activity  is  free  or 
impeded,  in  so  far  life  is  manifested  in  greater  or  in  less  degree. 
The  idea  of  life  carries  with  it  its  own  standard,  and  as  the  idea 
of  life  rises  the  standard  of  the  perfection  of  life  also  rises.  As 
higher  and  higher  standards  are  conceived,  as  higher  and  higher 
regions  of  abstraction  are  entered,  we  reach  at  last  the  conception 
of  perfect  being  in  which  all  the  conditions  that  are  involved  in 
the  complete  manifestation  of  ideal  life  are  fulfilled  most  absolutely. 
Thus  the  idea  of  perfect  being  implies  independence,  self-existence 


THE    IDEA    OF    NECESSARY    BEING  75 

and  other  similar  attributes.  For  any  form  of  existence  which 
depends  in  part  upon  some  other  form  is  necessarily  less  full  and 
real  than  that  form  which  has  its  being  solely  in  and  through  itself. 
We  rarely  find  a  perfect  crystal,  because  the  crystal  is  so  far  de- 
pendent upon  the  rock  behind  it  that  when  it  is  broken  off  one  end 
of  the  crystal  is  left  rough  and  undeveloped.  All  dependent  being 
is  like  this  broken  crystal.  When  we  try  to  take  it  by  itself,  we 
come  upon  the  ragged  edge  which  marks  its  dependence  upon 
something  else.  We  cannot  find  perfect  being  until  we  reach  a 
perfect  being,  that  is,  a  being  which  we  can  consider  from  any 
point  of  view  and  find  always  wholly  complete.  Therefore  the 
idea  of  perfect  being  is  not  conventional,  and  the  standard  which 
is  applied  is  not  external  and  artificial  but  is  involved  in  the  very 
idea  of  being. 

The  third  form  of  the  a  priori  argument  is  based  upon  the 
idea  of  necessary  being.  It  differs  from  the  second  form,  the  ar- 
gument from  definition,  in  this  respect,  that  whereas  in  the 
argument  from  definition  existence  was  a  deduction  from  the 
definition  of  the  most  perfect  being,  this  third  form  of  the  argu- 
ment recognizes  the  necessity  of  existence  not  in  any  attribute  of 
being  but  in  being  itself.  In  his  treatment  of  this  argument  ' 
Spinoza  is  guilty  of  a  curious  fallacy.  At  first  he  reasons  that, 
since  the  "substance"  of  which  he  speaks  exists  and  always  has 
existed  it  must  exist  by  some  necessity  within  itself,  but  later 
he  changes  his  point  of  view  and  states  that  it  exists  because  it 
must  necessarily  exist.  According  to  Spinoza,  the  idea  of  neces- 
sary existence  involves  the  idea  that  the  being  which  necessarily 
exists  is  its  own  cause,  "causa  sui."  This  expression  has  been 
much  criticised,  but  somewhat  fallaciously  and  from  a  point  of 
view  quite  foreign  to  the  thought  which  Spinoza  intended  to 
convey.  For  if  we  inquire  as  to  the  existence  of  any  finite  thing, 
we  are  at  once  referred  to  something  which  was  the  cause  of  its 
existence,  and  as  we  continue  to  inquire  we  recognize  either  that 
there  is  an  endless  chain  of  causation,  and  therefore  no  real  cause, 
or  else  that  there  is  something  which  has  no  cause.     If  it  has  no 

1  Eihica,  Pars  I. 


76  THE    IDEA    OF   NECESSARY   BEING 

cause,  says  Spinoza,  it  must  be  its  own  cause.  Of  course  the  op- 
portunity offers  here  for  a  more  subtle  form  of  criticism.  If  a 
thing  has  always  existed,  why  speak  of  it  as  caused  at  all  ?  Why 
not  say  of  it  simply  that  it  exists  ?  There  is  a  certain  justice  in 
such  criticism.  Yet  if  we  look  at  the  question  from  a  different 
point  of  view,  we  may  regard  existence  at  any  one  moment  as  the 
outcome  of  that  existence  in  a  previous  moment.  Thus  the  uni- 
verse as  it  is  at  the  present  moment  may  be  said  to  have  for  its 
cause  the  form  in  which  it  existed  the  moment  before,  and  sim- 
ilarly, if  we  say  that  being  exists  now  because  it  always  has  ex- 
isted, and  that  its  existence  at  any  moment  is  dependent  upon  its 
preceding  existence,  then  in  this  sense  we  may  speak  of  being  as 
perpetually  the  cause  of  itself,  and  thus  a  very  real  significance 
attaches  to  the  phrase  "causa  sui." 

In  this  discussion  in  regard  to  necessary  being  we  must  dis- 
criminate between  the  two  aspects  in  which  necessary  being  may 
be  considered.  In  the  first  aspect  the  idea  of  necessary  being  is 
approached  from  the  idea  of  dependent  being.  Everything  as  we 
see  it  seems  to  be  dependent  upon  something  else,  and  therefore 
if  there  is  any  absolute  being  it  must  be  something  which  is  not 
thus  dependent,  but  which  is,  in  Spinoza's  phrase,  its  own  cause. 
In  the  second  aspect  necessary  being  is  conceived  as  that  form 
of  being  which  carries  the  necessity  of  its  own  existence  within 
itself.  Although  these  two  forms  of  thought  are  distinct  from 
each  other,  they  are  often  confounded.  Furthermore,  the  second 
form  has  been  pushed  too  far.  It  is  urged  that  nothing  has  neces- 
sary existence  which  we  can  imagine  not  to  exist,  but  of  all  the 
finite  things  about  us  there  is  nothing  which  we  cannot  imagine 
not  to  exist.  It  is  doubtful,  however,  whether  this  is  so.  For 
when  we  think  of  ourselves  or  of  trees  or  houses  as  not  existing,  we 
do  not  think  of  the  elements  of  which  we  or  the  objects  around  us 
are  constituted  as  not  existing;  we  think  of  them  only  as  entering 
into  other  combinations.  Indeed,  Spencer  insists  that  he  proves 
the  permanence  of  matter  and  force  by  a  priori  reasoning,  and  that 
it  grows  out  of  the  necessity  of  thought.1     We  cannot  think  of 

i  First  Principles,  Part  II,  Chaps.  IV-VI. 


THE    IDEA    OF    NECESSARY    BEING  77 

the  universe  without  thinking  of  those  elements  of  which  the 
universe  is  composed  as  existing  permanently  through  all  changes. 
It  may  sound  the  opposite  of  paradoxical  to  say  that  we  cannot 
think  of  anything  without  thinking  of  something.  But  there  must 
be  a  basis  for  our  thought  which  we  cannot  think  away,  and  the 
elements  of  thought  which  cannot  be  thought  away  are  the  elements 
which  we  have  just  recognized  as  those  of  which  the  universe  is 
constituted. 

In  all  this,  however,  we  have  not  reached  the  idea  of  a  being 
that  must  exist  because  of  its  very  nature.  We  have  reached 
only  the  ground  that,  given  the  universe,  there  must  be  something 
that  underlies  the  universe,  that  given  dependence  there  must 
be  independence.  Further  than  this  we  cannot  go,  Any  con- 
ception of  a  form  of  being  which  shall  be  seen  to  carry  within 
itself  the  necessity  of  its  existence  we  cannot  reach.  We  may  with 
Spinoza  reach  the  thought  that  independent  being  must  have 
the  necessity  of  existence  within  itself,  but  we  cannot  say  with 
him  that  therefore  independent  being  exists. 

Of  the  two  aspects  of  necessary  being,  the  first  is  reached  by  a 
method  allied  to  the  a  posteriori  argument,  whereas  the  approach 
to  the  second  professes  to  be  more  purely  a  priori.  In  the  one  case 
we  start  with  the  fact  that  the  existence  of  all  beings  which  we 
can  observe  is  a  dependent  existence.  We  cannot  help  feeling 
that  if  there  is  any  real  being  behind  the  mere  appearance  of  being, 
this  real  being  must  be  independent,  existing  in  and  through  it- 
self alone.  This  is  a  form  of  a  posteriori  argument,  for  we  ap- 
proach the  idea  which  we  are  seeking  from  facts  which  we  have 
observed.  Kant,  it  is  true,  considers  this  appearance  of  the 
a  posteriori  element  in  the  argument  wholly  fallacious,  and  holds 
that  the  only  thing  which  really  has  weight  with  us  is  the  neces- 
sity that  we  feel  in  our  own  minds  of  recognizing  some  indepen- 
dent or  absolute  being.1  The  fact  remains,  however,  that  this 
approach  to  the  conception  of  absolute  or  necessary  being  under 
the  first  aspect  is  from  the  a  posteriori  side,  and  that  we  fol- 
low the  a   priori   method   only    when   from  the   very  nature    of 

1  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  Vol.  I,  p.  364. 


78  THE    IDEA    OF   NECESSARY    BEING 

the  being  that  we  conceive  we  conclude  that  it  must  be  necessary 
being. 

Let  me  state  the  two  affirmations  in  still  another  form.  Under 
the  first  aspect,  given  the  universe  of  dependent  things,  we  cannot 
help  believing  in  the  existence  of  being  that  is  absolutely  inde- 
pendent; recognizing  that  the  things  which  we  see  are  caused,  we 
cannot  help  believing  in  that  which  is  "causa  sui."  Under  the 
second  aspect,  if  we  leave  out  of  account  the  universe  of  depend- 
ent things,  we  cannot  help  believing  that  there  is  a  being  which 
is  seen  to  involve  the  necessity  of  its  own  existence  within  itself. 
In  the  one  case  this  absolute  being  is  seen  to  be  necessary  because 
of  its  relation  to  dependent  being.  In  the  other  case  it  is  held 
to  be  necessary  considered  in  itself.  The  nature  of  the  necessity 
in  the  second  case  I  cannot  in  any  way  attempt  to  explain,  for  the 
position  is  one  the  reasonableness  of  which  I  do  not  understand. 
I  cannot  conceive  of  any  being  which  can  be  regarded  as  neces- 
sary except  under  the  first  aspect,  that  is,  except  as  the  approach 
to  it  is  made  from  the  world  of  dependent  being. 

In  summing  up  this  discussion  we  may  assume  that  there  are 
two  points  in  regard  to  which  all  would  agree.  First,  something 
must  have  existed  eternally,  and,  second,  that  which  has  existed 
eternally  cannot  be  merely  a  series  of  existences  but  must  be  some- 
thing permanent.  In  other  words,  not  merely  must  something 
have  existed  eternally  but  the  same  thing  must  have  existed.  For 
if  that  which  is  produced  is  dependent,  it  must  be  dependent  upon 
something,  and  this  something  must  be  that  which  eternally  exists. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  regard  that  which  is  produced  as  inde- 
pendent, we  cannot  conceive  of  it  except  as  another  form  of  that 
which  existed  previously  and  produced  it.  That  is,  independence 
can  be  produced  only  from  independence,  and  through  the  com- 
munication of  its  substance.  To  produce  independence  in  any 
other  way  would  be  to  create  something  out  of  nothing,  and  this 
again  would  contradict  the  law  of  causation.  For  the  law  of  causa- 
tion must  be  respected  in  both  of  its  aspects,  not  only  as  regards 
the  efficient  cause  but  also  as  regards  the  material  cause. 

I  have  said  that  on  these  two  points  all  would  agree.     But 


THE    IDEA    OF   NECESSARY   BEING  79 

difference  arises  when  we  ask  what  it  is  that  has  existed  thus 
eternally.  The  materialists  would  say  that  it  is  the  atoms,  and 
so  far  as  any  a  priori  necessity  is  concerned,  this  answer  is  satis- 
factory. For  here  is  a  persistent  substance  or  collection  of  sub- 
stances which  remains  the  same,  and  of  which  all  the  changes 
which  appear,  all  the  variations  in  the  forms  of  things,  are  only 
modifications.  In  other  words,  here  is  independent  eternal  being, 
with  all  things  depending  upon  it.  This  satisfies  the  a  priori 
need  of  eternal  being.  According  to  this  view,  the  changes,  the 
variations,  which  take  place,  are  produced  through  unstable  equi- 
librium. There  would  be  the  question  here  as  to  what  would 
happen  in  case  perfect  equilibrium  should  be  reached.  But  the 
real  difficulty  in  regard  to  this  position  arises  when  we  come  to 
ask  whether  all  that  we  find  in  the  universe  could  be  produced  in 
this  way, — whether,  for  instance,  spirit  can  be  accounted  for,  and 
all  that  pertains  to  spirit.  This,  however,  is  an  a  posteriori  diffi- 
culty, and  does  not  greatly  concern  us  here.  The  materialist 
would  say  that  the  atoms  are  all  that  have  existed  eternally,  the 
spiritualist  would  say  that  spirit  must  have  existed  eternally.  If 
only  one  or  the  other  can  have  existed  eternally,  must  matter  be 
considered  as  dependent  upon  spirit,  or  is  spirit  to  be  considered 
as  dependent  upon  matter?  If  the  reply  is  made  that  both  may 
have  existed  eternally,  then  may  not  one  still  be  dependent  upon 
the  other,  and  if  so,  must  it  not  be  assumed  that  the  one  upon 
which  the  other  is  dependent  is  Absolute  Being  ?  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  should  be  found  that  neither  is  dependent  upon  the  other, 
then  there  would  be  two  principles  existing  eternally  side  by  side. 
But  as  I  have  just  said,  the  a  priori  idea  of  necessary  being  cannot 
take  us  further.  For  it  is  purely  abstract ;  it  is  simply  the  idea  of 
being  that  is  necessarily  conceived  or  necessarily  assumed.  After 
all,  the  necessity  is  one  not  of  being  but  of  thought.  As  Hume 
says  of  causation  in  general,1  it  is  a  subjective  rather  than  an  ob- 
jective necessity.  That  is  to  say,  the  laws  of  thought  are  such 
that  we  must  necessarily  assume  the  existence  of  a  cause. 

This  brings  us  to  the  consideration  of  the  fourth  form  of  the 

1  A  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  Book  I,  Part  III,  §  III. 


80       man's  apprehension  of  the  divine  being 

a  priori  argument  in  regard  to  the  divine  nature,  namely,  the 
argument  from  the  nature  of  our  apprehension  of  the  divine  being. 
It  is  here  that  Descartes  enters  with  the  famous  formula,  "  Cogito, 
ergo  sum."  There  are  three  steps  in  the  argument  of  Descartes, 
two  of  which  are  a  priori  and  the  other  a  posteriori.  First  he 
borrows  from  Anselm  the  argument  from  definition,  substituting, 
however,  for  Anselm's  "greatest  being"  the  term  "most  perfect 
being."  Next  he  tries  to  throw  away  all  beliefs  and  to  start  afresh, 
asking  himself  whether  there  is  anything  which  he  absolutely 
believes,  and,  if  so,  in  what  respect  this  differs  from  the  things 
which  are  not  absolutely  believed.  He  finds  that  thought  is 
something  which  he  cannot  escape,  something  which  he  cannot 
imagine  not  to  exist.  But  thought  implies  a  thinker,  and  so  he 
reaches  the  formula,  "Cogito,  ergo  sum."  When  he  proceeds 
to  ask  what  the  mark  is  by  which  he  recognizes  this  as  absolutely 
believed,  he  finds  that  it  consists  in  the  method  of  his  apprehension. 
That  which  he  so  absolutely  believes  is  distinguished  from  that 
which  is  not  absolutely  believed  because  he  sees  it  so  clearly  and 
distinctly.  Clearness  and  distinctness  of  perception,  therefore, 
constitute  the  mark  or  test  of  that  which  must  be  believed.  Then, 
taking  the  third  step  in  his  argument,  he  looks  about  him  to  see 
what  else  there  is  to  which  this  mark  can  be  applied.  He  arrives 
at  the  thought  of  God.  This  again  presents  itself  to  him  so  clearly 
and  distinctly  that  he  recognizes  it  as  belonging  in  the  same  class 
with  the  thought  of  his  own  existence. 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  the  a  priori  argument  that  it  sees  from  the 
beginning  the  point  at  which  it  is  aiming.  This  peculiarity  does 
not  necessarily  affect  the  force  of  the  argument.  When,  for  in- 
stance, the  mathematician  reaches  a  point  in  some  long  process 
where  the  lines  of  inquiry  divide,  and  selects  that  line  which  prom- 
ises to  lead  him  nearest  to  the  point  at  which  he  is  aiming,  his 
method  is  wholly  legitimate.  But  if  the  nature  of  the  argument  is 
affected  by  this  consciousness  of  the  desired  end,  the  method  is 
not  so  legitimate.  We  cannot  help  thinking  that  when  Descartes 
stripped  his  mind  of  all  belief  and  prepared  to  plunge  into  the 
sea  of  absolute  doubt,  he  knew  in  advance  where  he  was  to  come 


man's  apprehension  of  the  divine  being       81 

out.  However,  setting  aside  such  surmises,  what  strikes  us  as 
very  obvious  is  that  the  two  things  which  he  clearly  and  distinctly 
sees  do  not  stand  upon  precisely  the  same  level.  That  is  to  say, 
his  belief  in  his  own  existence  and  his  belief  in  the  existence  of 
God  seem  not  to  have  offered  themselves  to  his  mind  through  the 
same  method  of  apprehension.  We  infer  this  from  the  fact  that 
when  he  made  the  search  for  something  that  was  indisputably 
believed,  it  was  his  own  existence  which  first  offered  itself,  and  it 
was  after  he  had  planted  himself  on  this  belief  and  looked  about 
him  to  see  if  there  were  anything  else  which  was  equally  indis- 
putable that  he  found  the  belief  in  God.  If  the  belief  in  his 
own  existence  and  his  belief  in  God  had  stood  in  exactly  the  same 
relation  to  his  thought  in  this  respect,  one  would  suppose  that 
they  would  have  offered  themselves  to  his  mind  together,  or  even 
that  the  belief  in  God  might  have  offered  itself  first.  But  we  can- 
not conceive  that  Descartes  might  first  have  reached  his  belief 
in  God  and  then  the  belief  in  his  own  existence.  Even  if  we 
grant  that  both  beliefs  may  have  stood  in  the  same  relation  to  his 
thought,  and  that  the  belief  in  his  own  existence  offered  itself 
first,  not  because  it  was  more  clearly  seen,  but  only  because  it  was 
nearer  to  him,  still  the  impression  remains  that  it  was  the  belief  in 
his  own  existence  which  offered  itself  as  most  certainly  indisputable. 
The  phrase  of  Descartes,  "clearly  and  distinctly  seen,"  finds 
illustration  in  the  "adequate  conception"  of  Spinoza.  By  an 
adequate  conception  Spinoza  means,  not  a  conception  that  is  com- 
plete and  does  full  justice  to  its  object,  but  one  which  sees  a  thing 
in  its  necessity.  For  example,  we  know  that  an  eclipse  is  to  take 
place  because  the  astronomer  tells  us  so,  but  we  do  not  have  an 
adequate  conception  of  it.  The  astronomer  has  a  more  adequate 
conception,  although  his  conception  is  not  complete.  It  is  doubt- 
ful, however,  whether  Descartes  had  elaborated  his  thought  to 
the  degree  of  distinctness  conveyed  in  Spinoza's  phrase,  and  Hume 
perhaps  represents  him  more  nearly,  although  in  a  ruder  way, 
when  he  defines  belief  as  the  lively,  forcible,  firm  and  steady 
conception  of  a  thing.1     It  is  easy  to  see  that  this  definition  of 

i  A  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  Book  I,  Part  III,  §  VII. 


82       man's  apprehension  of  the  divine  being 

Hume's  cannot  be  completely  accepted.  For  we  may  often  have 
a  lively  conception  of  a  thing  without  believing  in  it.  Thus  a 
man  may  have  met  with  an  accident  in  driving,  and  when  he 
plans  to  drive  again  it  is  quite  possible  that  he  may  have  a  "  lively, 
forcible,  firm  and  steady"  idea  of  an  accident, — so  lively  and 
steady,  indeed,  that  whether  he  drives  again  or  not,  he  cannot  get 
rid  of  it. 

If  you  ask  what  tests  of  belief  I  have  to  offer  if  these  are  set 
aside,  I  must  reply  frankly  that  I  have  none.  Belief  is  something 
by  itself.  It  cannot  be  explained,  or  expressed  in  other  terms. 
We  believe  what  we  believe,  and  the  only  test  of  belief  that  can 
be  applied  to  that  which  claims  to  be  an  object  of  absolute  belief 
is  whether  or  no  we  can  help  believing  it.  Probably  nothing  more 
than  this  was  involved  in  the  formula  of  Descartes,  and  we  may 
imagine  him  as  thinking,  "  I  cannot  help  believing  that  existence 
and  thought  must  go  together;  if  there  is  thought,  there  must  be 
existence;  cogito,  ergo  sum."  We  may  criticise  the  argument  of 
Descartes,  but  his  thought  marks  an  era  in  a  priori  argument 
For  he  transfers  the  ground  of  argument  from  the  external  to  the 
internal  world,  from  the  objective  to  the  subjective.  The  definite 
results  that  he  obtained  amount  to  little  at  the  present  time,  but 
he  opened  the  way  of  modern  thought. 


CHAPTER  X. 

POSITIVE  DISCUSSION  OF  THE  A  PRIORI  ARGUMENT. — THE  ARGU- 
MENT FROM  UNIVERSALITY  OF  BELIEF. — THE  A  PRIORI  ARGU- 
MENT AS  INVOLVED   IN  THE   THREE   IDEAS   OF  THE   REASON. 

In  entering  on  the  positive  discussion  of  the  a  priori  argument 
we  have  to  consider  not  necessity  of  being  but  necessity  of  thought. 
What  is  it,  then,  which  constitutes  necessity  of  thought?  What 
is  there  that  we  cannot  help  believing  ? 

There  are  two  forms  under  which  necessary  thought  may  exist. 
It  may  be  simple  and  absolute,  primary,  or  it  may  be  something 
which  is  seen  to  be  involved  in  a  primary  belief  and  therefore  is 
secondary  and  dependent.  According  to  the  first  form  I  say  that 
I  cannot  help  believing  this  or  that.  Under  the  second  form  I 
say  that  if  I  believe  A  then  I  must  believe  B  and  C.  The  second 
form,  furthermore,  appears  in  two  minor  forms, — first,  where  the 
dependent  belief  is  a  resultant  from  the  primary  belief,  and  second, 
where  the  dependent  belief  is  a  postulate  of  the  primary  belief. 
According  to  the  first  of  these  minor  forms,  if  we  assume  that  A 
exists,  then  B  must  exist  as  a  result  of  A.  Under  the  second  of 
the  minor  forms,  if  we  assume  A,  then  we  must  assume  B  also; 
for,  in  order  that  A  may  exist,  B  must  also  exist.  In  the  one  case 
B  exists  because  it  is  dependent  upon  A,  while  in  the  other  case 
B  must  exist  because  the  existence  of  A  is  in  some  sense  dependent 
upon  the  existence  of  B. 

The  term  "postulate"  is  sometimes  used  rather  vaguely,  and 
therefore  it  is  well  to  have  in  mind  the  distinct  meaning  which  it 
carries  in  this  connection.  All  belief  rests  at  bottom  upon  some 
primary  assumption.  Strictly  speaking,  nothing  can  be  proved. 
All  arguments  imply  something  which  must  be  taken  for  granted 
without  proof.     No  links  in  the  chain  may  be  wanting,  but  with- 


84  THE    UNIVERSALITY    OF    BELIEF 

out  the  staple  to  which  the  chain  itself  is  attached  the  chain  is 
powerless.  Therefore  argument  is  effective  in  proportion  as  it 
brings  a  proposition  into  relation  with  some  necessary  belief. 
This  does  not  mean  that  the  assumption  of  a  belief  as  necessary 
and  fundamental  is  an  argument  with  which  to  convince  a  doubter. 
We  may  assert  that  the  belief  in  the  existence  of  God  is  innate 
and  universal,  but  this  will  not  convince  a  man  who  does  not 
himself  believe  in  God.  We  may  use  our  assumption  as  an  ex- 
planation of  the  wide-spread  belief  in  God,  but  not  as  an  argument. 
For  if  we  were  to  say  that  just  as  we  believe  in  the  existence  of 
the  outer  world,  although  we  cannot  prove  it,  so  by  the  same 
necessity  we  believe  in  God,  the  man  who  doubts  might  reply 
that  all  men  believe  in  the  existence  of  the  outer  world  in  some 
form  or  other,  but  all  do  not  believe  in  the  existence  of  God. 
What  would  then  become  of  our  assumption  of  the  universality  of 
a  belief  in  God  ? 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  there  is  no  real  atheism.  But  unless 
we  adopt  a  very  low  theory  as  to  what  constitutes  belief  in  God, 
we  must  admit  the  existence  of  a  practical  atheism,  the  atheism 
of  those  who  may  or  may  not  accept  intellectually  the  proofs  which 
are  offered,  but  who  show  by  their  lives  that  they  have  no  profound 
belief  in  the  existence  of  a  divine  being.  We  may  say  of  such  men 
that  they  really  do  believe  in  a  divine  power,  and  that  under  certain 
circumstances  this  belief  will  manifest  itself,  but  although  this 
may  explain  certain  facts,  it  does  not  prove  the  existence  of 
belief. 

This  argument  from  the  universality  of  belief  meets  us  in  its 
broadest  form  in  the  so-called  consensus  gentium,  the  fact  that 
everywhere  in  all  times  men  have  believed  in  God.  First  of  all, 
however,  we  have  to  confirm  the  fact,  and  the  doubter  might  well 
ask  whether  it  were  not  rather  a  poor  business  to  rest  religious  faith 
upon  the  answer  to  the  question  whether  or  no  some  tribe  of 
savages  had  an  idea  of  God.  The  recognition  of  God  cannot  be 
made  a  question  for  universal  suffrage,  in  which  the  vote  of  one 
person  has  as  much  weight  as  the  vote  of  another.  The  vote  of  a 
Plato  must  far  outweigh  the  votes  of  hundreds  and  thousands  of 


THE    UNIVERSALITY    OF    BELIEF  85 

degraded  or  undeveloped  minds.  Furthermore,  if  we  succeed  in 
proving  that  all  primitive  peoples  have  believed  in  the  existence  of 
a  divine  power,  we  have  to  meet  the  objection  of  Comte  that  such 
belief  belongs  to  the  stage  of  undeveloped  spirit.  According  to 
Comte  the  theological  view  of  the  world  is  first  and  lowest  in  the 
process  of  human  development.  As  the  development  continues, 
the  theological  view  gives  place  to  the  metaphysical,  and  the  meta- 
physical in  turn  to  the  positive.  We  may  say  to  the  doubter  that 
certain  beliefs  accompany  certain  stages  of  development,  and 
he  may  accept  our  theory  but  reply  that  he  has  passed  beyond  the 
stage  at  which  belief  in  God  is  possible. 

Again,  if  we  assume  that  in  some  form  the  belief  in  God  is  uni- 
versal, what  are  we  to  do  with  the  increasing  number  of  those 
educated  men  of  trained  habits  of  thought  who  find  no  basis  for 
the  belief?  Here,  to  be  sure,  our  explanation  is  ready.  These 
men,  we  say,  cannot  believe  because  certain  elements  of  their 
nature  have  been  developed  disproportionately  so  that  the  voices 
of  other  elements  are  overpowered.  If  a  man  says  that  he  finds 
in  the  universe  nothing  but  matter  and  force,  it  is  because  he 
has  trained  himself  to  see  these  and  nothing  else.  This  may  be, 
and  in  my  judgment  is,  a  fair  explanation.  But  it  is  not  an  argu- 
ment, and  it  cannot  be  used  as  an  argument.  Granted  that  the 
development  of  the  senses  or  of  the  understanding  has  been  dis- 
proportionate, the  man  occupies  the  position  which  he  has  reached 
completely,  and  he  cannot  be  made  to  look  at  the  universe  in  any 
other  way  than  that  to  which  he  has  become  accustomed.  Thus 
under  whatever  form  we  present  the  assumption  of  the  universality 
of  belief,  we  are  brought  back  to  the  same  point,  that  it  is  not  an 
argument. 

There  is  one  aspect,  however,  in  which  the  test  of  universality 
has  weight.  Thus  far  we  have  considered  only  assertion  and 
counter-assertion,  and  no  argument  has  been  suggested  which 
has  objective  value  and  is  independent  of  the  position  held  on 
either  side.  But  suppose  we  begin  by  assuming  that  no  man  can 
have  a  belief  or  a  standard  that  is  not  natural,  that  no  matter 
whether  it  is  high  or  low  the  mere  fact  that  he  hold',  it  shows  that 


86  THE    UNIVERSALITY    OF    BELIEF 

it  is  natural.  We  have  then  to  ask  whose  system  includes  that 
of  the  other.  The  glutton,  for  instance,  says  that  his  pleasures 
are  natural.  "  God  gave  the  vine  and  all  the  good  things  of  life, 
and  He  gave  me  the  taste  for  them."  "Yes,"  we  answer,  "that 
is  true,  and  we  also  enjoy  the  good  things  of  life  and  the  pleasures 
of  taste.  But  we  enjoy  other  things,  besides,  of  a  different  and 
higher  kind.  These  higher  pleasures  are  as  natural  as  yours,  and 
the  fact  that  we  have  both  kinds  of  pleasure  while  you  have  only 
one  shows  that  our  development  is  fuller  and  more  nearly  complete 
than  yours."  Or  take  the  profound,  exalted  pleasure  which  the 
person  who  is  thoroughly  musical  derives  from  music.  i\ny  one 
who  has  this  intensely  developed  enjoyment  is  as  truly  more  com- 
plete than  those  who  cannot  share  in  it  as  the  man  who  sees  and 
hears  is  more  complete  than  one  who  is  blind  and  deaf.  I  say, 
as  truly  complete.  I  do  not  say  that  the  difference  is  as  great. 
In  a  similar  way  all  the  pleasure  which  the  materialist  has  in  the 
working  of  material  laws  and  forces  is  open  to  the  spiritual  nature 
as  well,  but  the  spiritual  nature  enjoys  in  addition  emotions  for 
which  the  materialist  has  no  place  and  of  which  he  has  no  knowl- 
edge. Of  course  such  a  test  as  this  can  be  used  only  in  the  most 
abstract  and  universal  manner.  It  applies  only  to  principles  and 
not  to  matters  of  detail.  A  materialist,  if  he  is  a  scientist,  may 
have  knowledge  in  some  directions  beyond  that  of  a  man  of 
spiritual  experience  and  so  may  enjoy  certain  specific  emotions  and 
pleasures  into  which  the  man  of  spiritual  experience  does  not 
enter.  Yet  even  so,  such  pleasures  and  emotions  are  open  in 
kind  to  the  spiritual  nature. 

The  test  holds  good  in  the  comparison  between  different  forms 
of  religion.  Thus  if  Christianity  has  place  for  all  that  is  positive 
in  Brahmanism,  while  Brahmanism  has  no  place  for  all  that  is 
positive  in  Christianity,  then  Christianity  is  to  that  extent  higher 
than  Brahmanism.  Or  take  different  forms  of  Christianity  as 
found  in  the  Catholic  and  Protestant  churches.  Each  has  place 
for  some  things  which  are  not  found  in  the  other.  The  first  in- 
ference, then,  is  that  neither  of  the  two  forms  is  perfect,  that  neither 
provides  fully  for  all  the  needs  of  the  completely  rounded  nature. 


THE    UNIVERSALITY    OF    BELIEF  87 

But  one  may  go  further.  The  essential  principle  with  the  Catholic 
church  is  faith,  with  the  Protestant  church,  reason.  Has  the 
Catholic  church,  then,  the  place  for  reason  which  the  Protestant 
church  has  for  faith  ?  If  not,  if  the  Protestant  church  more  fully 
recognizes  both  faith  and  reason  than  the  Catholic,  then  the  test 
is  in  favor  of  the  Protestant  church.  On  the  other  hand,  one  may 
ask  whether  the  Protestant  church  has  such  a  place  for  the  esthetic 
sense  as  is  found  in  the  Catholic  church  for  the  moral  consciousness. 
If  not,  then  in  this  respect  the  test  would  favor  the  Catholic 
church. 

When  all  is  said,  however,  although  we  may  prove  to  a  man 
that  the  religious  sense  is  normal  to  the  soul,  we  do  not  thereby 
make  him  religious,  any  more  than  we  make  him  musical  by 
proving  to  him  that  the  sense  of  music  is  normal  and  that  he  is 
deficient  if  he  does  not  possess  it.  The  argument  is  more  power- 
ful to  convince  than  to  convert.  The  assumption  that  religion 
is  natural  to  men  has  its  great  value  in  renewing  and  strengthening 
the  faith  of  those  who  already  believe.  If  one  has  any  religious 
faith  at  all,  the  thought  not  only  of  the  multitudes  who  share  this 
faith  with  him  but  also  of  the  many  among  the  number  who  rep- 
resent all  that  is  noblest  in  human  nature,  must  give  him  fresh 
confidence,  both  for  himself  and  in  any  appeal  which  he  may  make 
to  others.  For  just  as  the  man  who  believes  in  the  universality  of 
the  sense  of  justice  has  greater  confidence  in  appealing  to  that 
sense  in  others,  however  undeveloped  it  may  be  in  them,  so  the 
man  who  believes  that  the  religious  sense  is 'normal  in  the  human 
spirit  is  more  confident  in  any  effort  to  awaken  faith  in  those  about 
him.  The  preacher  knows  that  in  public  religious  services  the 
presence  of  the  mere  fact  of  worship  may  give  to  lives  hitherto 
unmoved  a  lasting  consciousness  of  the  reality  and  worth  of  re- 
ligious faith,  and  that  a  prayer  sometimes  converts  where  argu- 
ment has  failed. 

From  what  has  been  said  thus  far  it  is  plain  that  only  the  second 
form  of  the  a  priori  argument  can  have  real  weight  with  any  one 
who  does  not  already  believe,  that  form  which  presents  the  reality 
of  the  existence  of  God  not  as  in  itself  a  necessity  of  thought  but 


88     THE  IDEAS  OF  THE  REASON  AS  ABSOLUTE 

as  involved  in  something  which  the  mind  has  already  accepted  as 
necessary.  Here  our  general  psychological  analysis  again  serves 
us.  The  three  ideas  of  the  reason,  which  we  have  found  form 
the  content  of  religious  faith,1  suggest  a  method  of  argument. 
From  this  point  of  view  the  most  universal  form  of  the  a  priori 
argument  begins  with  the  recognition  of  each  of  the  three  ideas 
of  the  reason  as  absolute.  But  there  cannot  be  three  absolutes. 
Therefore  these  three,  truth,  goodness  and  beauty,  must  be  in 
essence  one,  and  wherever  truth  and  goodness  and  beauty  are 
found  there  is  the  thought  of  God.  I  have  made  this  statement 
elsewhere2  in  the  form  of  a  syllogism,  but  perhaps  it  should  rather 
be  given  as  an  intuition. 

This  principle  is  one  which  we  may  hesitate  to  announce,  but 
practically  we  accept  it.  Our  minds  do  not  rest  until  they  have 
reached  the  highest  unity.  Truth  and  goodness  and  beauty 
belong  together,  and  although  we  may  find  them  apparently 
manifesting  themselves  as  differing  one  from  another,  we  are 
compelled  to  regard  them  as  really  blending  in  one.  It  is  to  be 
noticed,  however,  that  while  the  three  ideas  of  the  reason  cover 
one  another,  their  unity  must  be  considered  as  a  whole  and  not  in 
detail.  In  the  discussion  of  the  subject  in  The  Science  of  Thought 
I  have  considered  at  some  length  the  fallacies  which  arise  when 
instead  of  taking  the  ideas  of  the  reason  in  their  broadest  sweep 
we  take  them  partially,  and  attempt  to  prove  their  identity  in  their 
minute  elements.3  It  is  as  though  we  were  to  assert  the  identity 
of  isothermal  lines  and  parallels  of  latitude.  There  is  but  one 
world.  The  isothermal  lines  represent  this  world,  and  so  do  the 
parallels  of  latitude,  and  in  their  completeness  the  lines  and  the 
parallels  must  cover  one  another.  Yet  the  parallels  and  the 
isothermal  lines  themselves  are  different,  and  the  world  is  differ- 
ently divided  according  as  it  is  considered  from  the  one  point  of 
view  or  from  the  other.  So  a  picture  may  be  perfectly  beautiful 
as  a  whole  although  one  part  or  another  taken  by  itself  may  not 
be    beautiful.     In    Raphael's    "Transfiguration"  the    demoniac 

i  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chap.  IX. 
2,  3  The  Science  of  Thought,  pp.  176-186. 


UNITY   AND    THE   A    PRIORI    ARGUMENT  89 

boy  is  not  beautiful,  but  he  is  a  part,  and  an  essential  part,  in  the 
complete  beauty  of  the  masterpiece. 

We  must  pass  on,  however,  from  this  universal  form  of  the 
argument,  and  consider  how  far  the  a  priori  argument  is  involved 
in  the  ideas  of  the  reason  taken  separately.  As  I  said  at  the 
outset,1  in  speaking  of  the  two  forms  of  the  a  priori  argument,  the 
second  form  may  appear  in  one  or  the  other  of  two  minor  forms, 
according  to  the  relation  which  the  dependent  belief  bears  to  the 
primary  belief,  whether  as  resultant  or  as  postulate.  But  we 
shall  find  that  of  these  two  forms  the  postulate  will  naturally  play 
the  greater  part,  since  our  reasoning  is  in  regard  to  the  Absolute. 
To  begin,  then,  with  the  first  idea  of  the  reason,  how  far  is  the  a 
priori  argument  involved  in  the  idea  of  truth  or  unity  ?  Spinoza 
attempts  to  base  his  philosophical  system  upon  this  idea  alone, 
for  his  "substance"  is  simply  another  name  for  the  absolute  unity. 
He  carries  this  one  principle  so  far  that  in  theory  he  excludes  the 
element  of  freedom  and  leaves  no  place  for  goodness, — for  good- 
ness, that  is,  in  the  ordinary  sense.  But  we  notice  that  as  he 
proceeds  with  his  discussion  and  we  enter  with  him  into  his 
higher  thought,  we  have  a  sense  of  exaltation  which  cannot  be 
understood  or  justified  unless  we  recognize  in  the  absolute  unity 
a  moral  perfection.  By  this  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  there  is 
any  contradiction  between  the  denial  of  freedom  and  the  attempt 
to  lead  others  to  a  higher  life.  Every  necessitarian  admits  the  in- 
fluence of  motives,  and  even  insists  that  we  are  always  governed 
by  the  strongest  motives,  and  Spinoza  is  merely  applying  this 
principle.  His  fundamental  assumption  is  that  if  men  do  not 
rise  to  the  higher  life  it  is  on  account  of  ignorance.  But  it  seems 
to  me  that  this  higher  life  to  which  he  summons  men  implies  a 
certain  moral  perfection,  or  at  least  that  beauty  of  character  which 
rests  upon  moral  perfection.  The  greatest  height  which  he  reaches 
is  love.  But  love  must  mean  that  there  is  something  which  is 
lovable,  something  which  is  not  mechanical  but  which  involves 
spiritual  attraction  and  therefore  spiritual  power. 

The  ideas  of  the  reason  are  not  found  apart  from  one  another. 

i  Page  83. 


90  UNITY   AND    THE    A    PRIORI    ARGUMENT 

If  an  attempt  is  made  to  build  a  system  of  thought  upon  any  one 
of  them  exclusively,  the  aid  of  the  others  becomes  necessary  if 
we  are  to  reach  the  results  at  which  we  aim.  It  is  as  though  an 
organist  were  trying  to  produce  the  noblest  music  by  the  use  of  a 
single  stop.  As  we  listen  we  wonder  at  the  fulness  of  the  har- 
mony, and  then  we  find  that  other  stops  have  not  been  fully  closed 
and  cannot  be  closed.  In  a  similar  way,  in  those  philosophies 
of  the  understanding  which  attempt  to  deny  the  higher  ideas 
and  to  account  for  everything  as  the  result  of  external  influences, 
we  often  meet  a  fulness  of  life,  moral  and  spiritual,  which  at  first 
seems  to  justify  their  assumptions.  But  when  we  look  more 
closely,  we  see  that  other  elements  have  crept  in  unawares. 

There  is  another  way,  however,  in  which  the  first  idea  of  the 
reason  involves  the  a  priori  argument.  We  have  already  seen1  that 
it  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  absolute  unity  under  any  other  form 
than  that  of  infinite  spirit.  But  we  have  also  seen2  that  the  idea 
of  absolute  unity  is  a  necessity  of  belief.  Then,  just  so  far  as  we 
cannot  help  believing  in  absolute  unity,  just  so  far  must  we  also 
believe  in  that  infinite  spirit  which  is  the  only  form  under  which 
absolute  unity  can  be  conceived.  How  is  this  argument  to  be 
classed  ?  Is  the  conception  of  unity  a  resultant  of  the  belief  in  in- 
finite spirit,  or  does  it  postulate  infinite  spirit  ?  To  speak  of  the 
idea  of  unity  as  postulating  the  idea  of  infinite  spirit  is  hardly  per- 
missible. For  a  postulate  is  more  naturally  something  which  is 
distinct  from  that  which  forms  the  basis  of  the  postulate,  and  here 
the  two  are  one,  the  unity  must  be  a  spiritual  unity.  On  the  other 
hand  there  is  a  similar  difficulty  if  we  say  that  the  one  is  a  result- 
ant of  the  other.  We  can  only  repeat  that  the  two  ideas  are  one. 
WTe  cannot  conceive  of  absolute  unity  without  conceiving  of  in- 
finite spirit,  and  to  the  extent  to  which  we  are  compelled  to  believe 
in  absolute  unity  we  must  also  believe  in  infinite  spirit. 

How  is  it  as  regards  the  moral  character  of  this  absolute  spirit- 
ual unity  ?  Can  the  idea  of  absolute  goodness  be  reached  in  this 
way  ?     It  may  be  said  that  if  there  is  an  absolute  unity  in  and 

i  Chapters  III-V. 

2  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chap.  IX. 


GOODNESS    AND    THE   A    PRIORI    ARGUMENT  91 

through  which  all  things  exist,  then  anything  that  is  foreign 
to  this  unity  would  be  excluded,  and  there  would  be  a  harmonious 
universe  in  which  the  discords  of  sin  and  evil  must  be  regarded 
as  only  subordinate  and  transient.  Seydel  has  developed  this 
aspect  of  the  argument  more  thoroughly  than  any  one  else.1  He 
begins  with  the  thought  that  the  manifestation  of  absolute  being 
cannot  ultimately  be  other  than  positive.  For  the  problem  of 
sin  and  evil,  therefore,  no  solution  can  be  found  except  as  they 
are  recognized  as  transient;  they  serve  as  means  to  an  end,  aris- 
ing from  some  absolute  necessity,  but  they  have  no  permanent 
place  in  the  universe. 

If  we  ask  whether  the  idea  of  beauty  also  is  to  be  approached 
through  the  thought  of  absolute  unity,  we  come  upon  a  funda- 
mental affirmation  which  needs  no  argument.  If  the  universe 
is  the  manifestation  of  absolute  unity,  it  is  a  harmony,  and  ulti- 
mately, as  transient  discords  appear,  the  most  magnificent  har- 
mony that  can  be  conceived.  All  that  we  know  as  beauty  is  a 
portion  of  the  one  beauty,  some  strain  of  the  great  symphony 
heard  imperfectly  and  at  a  distance. 

We  have  next  to  ask  whether  the  second  idea  of  the  reason, 
goodness,  also  carries  with  it  the  conception  of  divine  existence. 
Here  we  meet  the  Postulates  of  Kant.2  As  Spinoza  is  the  classic 
example  of  the  attempts  to  construct  a  system  of  thought  upon 
the  first  idea  of  the  reason  alone,  so  Kant  is  foremost  among 
those  who  have  made  goodness  the  foundation  of  their  systems. 
Kant  denies  all  power  in  the  intellect  taken  by  itself  to  reach 
any  result  which  can  be  accepted  as  having  a  reality  independent 
of  the  mind  itself.  He  shows  that  the  ideas  upon  which  religion 
rests  cannot  be  proved  by  any  logical  process,  nor  can  they  be 
disproved.  They  lie  outside  the  world  of  human  reasoning. 
If,  therefore,  there  is  any  extralogical  ground  for  accepting  them, 
they  may  be  held  without  fear  of  attack  from  the  side  of  intellect. 
He  finds  this  extralogical  ground  for  their  acceptance  in  the  moral 

1  Religionsphilosophie,  Part  II. 

2  C.  C.  Everett,  Essays  Theological  and  Literary,  "  Kant's  Influence  in  The- 
ology." 


92     GOODNESS  AND  THE  A  PRIORI  ARGUMENT 

law.  He  does  not,  like  Martineau1  and  many  others,  reason 
back  to  the  thought  of  God  as  implied  in  the  very  existence  of 
the  moral  law.  The  thought  of  God  and  of  immortality  are  to 
him  the  elements  without  which  the  fulfilment  of  the  moral  law 
is  impossible.  The  moral  law  is  absolute.  It  must  be  fulfilled. 
Therefore  we  have  the  right  to  postulate  God  and  immortality, 
since  these  furnish  the  only  conditions  under  which  obedience  is 
possible. 

Kant  presented  his  postulates  under  two  different  forms.  In 
the  Critique  of  Pure  Reason2  he  urges  that  the  moral  law  is  a 
mere  phantom  of  the  brain  unless  it  be  regarded  as  the  expres- 
sion of  the  will  of  a  lawgiver,  and  unless  its  authority  be  enforced 
by  the  sanction  of  rewards  and  punishments.  The  first  of  these 
requirements  involves  the  existence  of  a  divine  Lawgiver,  the 
second  involves  a  future  life  in  which  the  sanctions  of  the  law 
can  be  fulfilled. 

The  second  form  of  the  postulates  appears  in  the  Critique  oj 
Practical  Reason,  published  seven  years  later.  Here  Kant  has 
come  to  feel  the  inconsistency  in  the  more  personal  aspect  of  the 
postulates  in  their  earlier  form,  and  so  far  as  is  possible  strips 
his  reasoning  of  all  personal  feeling.  According  to  the  principles 
which  he  now  lays  down,  an  act,  to  have  moral  value,  must  be 
performed  purely  from  moral  motives.  The  fear  of  punishment 
or  the  hope  of  reward  introduces  an  unmoral  element  and  cannot 
be  recognized  as  an  impulse  to  moral  action.  The  only  source 
from  which  the  stimulus  to  obedience  can  be  sought  is  reverence 
for  the  moral  law  itself.  The  end  of  the  moral  law  is  the  attain- 
ment of  the  highest  good.  This  highest  good  consists  in  the 
adjustment  between  happiness  and  desert.  If  the  moral  idea  is 
to  be  fulfilled,  a  Being  must  be  assumed  who  has  power  to  make 
this  adjustment.  Furthermore,  the  personal  element  cannot  be 
wholly  left  out  of  the  account,  and  since  the  individual  cannot 
at  any  moment  of  time  become  perfectly  moral,  the  moral  law 

1  James  Martineau,  A  Study  of  Religion,  Vol.  I,  p.  21,  Vol.  II,  p.  28. 

2  Trans,  by  F.  Max  Miiller,  p.  491. 


GOODNESS   AND    THE    A    PRIORI    ARGUMENT  93 

demands  eternity  for  its  fulfilment.  Thus  we  have  the  postulate 
of  immortality.  This  infinite  character  of  the  moral  law  is  given 
more  definite  form  by  Fichte.  Individuals  are  points  of  con- 
sciousness into  which  the  infinite  consciousness  has  differentiated 
itself.  Each  individual  point  feels  the  impulse  of  its  infinitude 
and  strives  continually  toward  the  perfect  fulfilment  of  the  moral 
law.  But  the  finite  point,  although  it  is  always  approaching 
the  infinite  manifestation,  never  reaches  it.  This  thought  of  an 
infinite  progress  is  the  basis  of  Fichte's  optimism.  In  its  negative 
aspect  the  same  thought  becomes  the  basis  of  Schopenhauer's 
pessimism.  Fichte  emphasizes  the  idea  of  continued  advance, 
Schopenhauer  that  of  a  continual  demand  which  is  never 
satisfied.1 

The  two  forms  of  the  postulates  are  wholly  different  from  each 
other.  In  the  first  form  the  personal  element  is  emphasized,  in 
the  second  the  impersonal  and  universal.  In  the  first  the  question 
is,  how  shall  weak  human  nature  find  strength  to  fulfil  the  moral 
law.  In  the  second  the  moral  law  demands  that  certain  conditions 
shall  be  fulfilled  without  regard  to  human  strength  or  weakness. 
Instead  of  human  need,  the  necessity  of  the  moral  law  itself 
becomes  the  basis  of  the  postulate,  and  the  moral  law  is  no  longer 
applied  to  the  individual,  but  only  to  the  universe.  The  later 
postulates  contain  elements  foreign  to  the  moral  law,  so  far  as 
the  individual  is  concerned,  and  they  lay  upon  the  individual  a 
duty  which  is  not  included  in  the  moral  law.  Evidently  Kant 
based  his  postulates  upon  his  belief  rather  than  his  belief  upon 
the  postulates.  He  felt  that  there  was  a  most  intimate  relation 
between  morality  and  religion,  that  morality  was  the  basis  of 
religious  belief.  When  he  found  that  the  first  method  by  which 
he  had  attempted  to  establish  this  relation  had  involved  him 
in  inconsistency,  he  did  not  say,  "Why,  then,  my  results  are 
false,  and  there  is  not  this  necessity  for  a  belief  in  God  and  in 
immortality."  Instead,  he  simply  went  to  work  in  another  way 
to  reach  the  same  results.  What  right  had  he,  however,  by  either 
method,  to  make  such  postulates  ?     The  moral  law  is  simply  a 

1  C.  C.  Everett,  Fichte's  Science  of  Knowledge,  Chap.  XII. 


94  GOODNESS   AND    THE   A    PRIORI    ARGUMENT 

demand,  a  "  categorical  necessity,"  to  use  his  own  expression. 
What  right  has  he  to  assume  that  this  demand  must  be  fulfilled  ? 
He  himself  is  the  first  to  see  that  he  has  no  such  right.  He  says 
simply  that  it  is  a  moral  necessity.  We  cannot  prove  that  there 
is  a  God,  we  can  only  feel  that  there  must  be  one. 

Yet  there  must  be  a  logical  basis  for  any  postulate.  Suppose, 
for  instance,  that  a  man  is  starving,  and  that  there  is  a  loaf  of 
bread  or  some  money  which  is  within  reach  but  which  belongs 
to  another.  His  only  hope  for  life  is  to  take  it.  Here  is  a  post- 
ulate based  upon  the  absolute  necessity  of  life  to  this  individual. 
That  is,  the  impulse  of  self-preservation  justifies  to  him  his  act 
in  taking  the  loaf.  But  just  because  the  loaf  is  necessary  to  his 
existence,  can  he  therefore  assume  that  there  is  a  loaf  ?  Because 
a  man  is  drowning  and  has  that  intense  longing  for  existence 
which  demands  something  to  which  it  may  cling,  has  he  a  right 
to  assume  that  a  raft  or  a  log  shall  be  present  ?  Or  again,  to 
return  to  the  starving  man  with  the  loaf  before  him  which  belongs 
to  another,  has  he  the  right  to  appropriate  it  ?  Some  men  have 
died  rather  than  violate  their  conscience;  the  first  cry  of  the  indi- 
vidual necessity  has  been,  "  I  must  live,"  but  the  moral  sense 
has  answered,  "Why?"  Kant  was  certainly  right  in  so  far  as 
he  placed  the  demand  of  the  moral  law  above  the  demand  for 
life. 

But  let  us  take  another  illustration.  In  our  Civil  War  the 
Government  of  the  United  States  performed  a  number  of  extra- 
constitutional  acts.  These  acts  were  justified  on  the  ground 
that  the  necessity  for  national  existence  had  given  rise  to  the 
Constitution  and  was  therefore  superior  to  the  Constitution,  so 
that  to  sacrifice  the  national  existence  to  the  Constitution  would 
be  to  sacrifice  the  end  to  the  means.  May  not  a  similar  argu- 
ment hold  in  the  case  of  the  individual  ?  In  all  cases,  we  answer, 
in  which  a  postulate  of  this  kind  is  to  be  accepted,  there  must  be 
some  underlying  philosophy.  If  the  starving  man  thinks  himself 
justified  in  taking  the  loaf  or  the  money,  it  must  be  through  some 
principle  of  socialism,  more  or  less  consciously  recognized,  by 
which  he  holds  that  society  owes  a  life  to  every  individual.     If 


GOODNESS   AND    THE    A    PRIORI    ARGUMENT  95 

the  nation  assumes  the  right  to  violate  its  own  constitution,  it 
can  be  only  on  the  ground  that  the  nation  is  more  universal  than 
the  individual,  that  individual  lives  and  individual  property 
depend  upon  the  national  existence,  and  that  therefore  the  life 
of  the  nation  must  be  preserved  at  all  hazards.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  old-time  assumption  that  "the  king  can  do  no 
wrong." 

In  a  similar  way,  if  goodness  is  to  make  this  postulate,  if  the 
moral  law  makes  necessary  the  belief  in  God,  there  must  be  some 
basis  for  the  postulate,  some  underlying  philosophy,  whether 
held  consciously  or  unconsciously.  In  Kant's  philosophy  good- 
ness is  made  supreme.  But  there  are  two  kinds  of  supremacy, 
supremacy  de  jure  and  supremacy  de  facto.  If  we  take  the  moral 
sense  by  itself,  all  that  we  can  say  with  absoluteness  is  that  it  is 
supreme  de  jure.  Kant,  however,  assumes  that  it  is  supreme 
de  facto,  and  that  the  universe  itself  must  conform  to  the  demands 
of  the  moral  law.  Otherwise  life  would  be  left  incomplete,  and 
there  would  be  a  mighty  demand  with  no  fulfilment.  That  is, 
there  would  be  an  infinite  breach  in  the  universe,  on  the  one 
hand  the  demand  of  the  highest  spiritual  nature  and  on  the  other 
the  absence  of  all  response  to  this  demand.  Why  should  there 
not  be  such  a  breach?  If  we  reply  that  it  is  inconceivable,  it 
is  because  consciously  or  unconsciously  we  recognize  the  fact  that 
the  universe  is  one.  In  other  words,  while  Kant  was  attempt- 
ing to  work  out  his  system  upon  the  basis  of  the  second  idea  of 
the  reason  alone,  unconsciously  he  was  accepting  as  one  of  his 
premises  the  first  idea  of  the  reason.  His  postulate  would  be 
simply  an  infinite  demand  like  the  demand  of  the  drowning  man 
for  something  to  cling  to,  except  as  the  unity  of  the  universe  is 
assumed,  a  unity  implying  the  correlation  of  all  elements  of  the 
universe  with  one  another,  and  especially,  in  this  case,  the  cor- 
relation of  the  absolute  fact  with  the  infinite  demand. 

A  comparison  of  the  thought  of  Kant  with  that  of  Anselm 
may  make  Kant's  position  clearer.  Anselm  bases  everything 
upon  the  thought  of  the  greatest,  the  perfect  being.  His  con- 
ception of  sin  and  of  the  necessity  of  the  atonement  rests  chiefly 


96  BEAUTY    AND    THE    A    PRIORI    ARGUMENT 

on  his  idea  of  the  divine  glory.  Sin  is  a  violation  of  what  is  due 
to  God.1  With  Kant  the  fundamental  thought  is  the  highest 
good,  and  God  is  postulated  in  order  that  the  moral  law  may 
be  fulfilled.  The  moral  law  does  not  follow  upon  the  recognition 
of  the  relation  of  man  to  God,  but  the  relation  of  man  to  God 
is  demanded  for  the  accomplishment  of  the  moral  law.  With 
Anselm  God  is  the  end,  with  Kant  God  is  the  means  to  an  end. 
There  is  an  illustration  here  of  a  tendency  in  theology  to  follow 
in  its  development  the  political  development  of  the  world.  At 
first  the  idea  of  absolute  monarchy  furnished  the  type  for  theo- 
logical conceptions,  but  with  the  recognition  of  democratic  prin- 
ciples in  government  theological  conceptions  also  were  modi- 
fied. Thus  Anselm  assumes  that  the  kingdom  is  for  the  mon- 
arch. With  Kant  the  monarch  is  for  the  kingdom.  With  him 
it  is  not  God  who  is  first,  but  the  ideal  universe.  It  is  worth 
while  to  notice  this  tendency,  partly  because  it  may  help  to  explain 
certain  transitions  in  thought,  and  partly  because  in  recognizing 
it  we  shall  be  more  likely  to  use  judgment  in  furthering  or  in 
checking  it,  as  the  case  may  be. 

In  closing  this  part  of  our  examination  we  have  still  to  ask 
whether  the  third  idea  of  the  reason  involves  the  thought  of  divine 
existence.  The  idea  of  beauty  has  been  too  much  neglected 
by  theologians,  and  this  neglect  has  more  or  less  colored  our 
theologies.  Even  in  philosophy  it  has  hardly  received  fair  treat- 
ment as  one  of  the  fundamental  elements  of  thought.  Yet  in 
justice  we  must  add  that  it  is  less  fundamental  than  the  others. 
If  we  describe  the  three  ideas  of  the  reason  by  saying  that  truth 
or  unity  affirms  that  which  is,  goodness  that  which  ought  to  be, 
and  beauty  that  which  is  as  it  ought  to  be,2  beauty  is  seen  to  be 
rather  the  resultant  of  truth  and  goodness  than  equally  funda- 
mental with  them.  Still,  the  dissatisfaction  which  the  human 
mind  would  feel  in  the  thought  of  an  incomplete  world,  the  con- 
tradiction to  its  esthetic  demand  which  it  would  have  to  face, 
points  to  the  conception  of  a  perfect  universe,  and  if  we  deny 
the  teachings  of  religion  it  is  hard  to  imagine  a  way  by  which 

1  Page  304.  2  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  200. 


BEAUTY    AND    THE    A    PRIORI    ARGUMENT  97 

the  discords  in  the  world  may  be  overcome.  Religion,  to  be  sure, 
does  not  do  away  with  all  discords,  but  it  does  point  to  the  pos- 
sibility of  their  ultimate  banishment  and  the  final  harmony  of  a 
completed  world.  Of  this,  however,  I  have  already  spoken  at 
some  length  in  our  examination  of  the  psychological  elements  of 
religious  faith.1 

1  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chap.  XII. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  POSITIVE  DISCUSSION  OF  THE  A  PRIORI  ARGUMENT  CON- 
TINUED.— THE  ADVANTAGES  OF  THE  ARGUMENT  FROM  THE 
THREE  IDEAS  OF  THE  REASON. — THE  POSTULATES  OF  THE 
INTELLECT. 

The  a  priori  argument  as  based  upon  the  three  ideas  of  the  rea- 
son holds,  of  course,  only  in  so  far  as  there  is  faith  in  these  ideas. 
But  to  a  certain  extent  this  faith  is  found  in  all  men,  or  at  least 
there  is  the  germ  of  it  in  every  mind.1  What  is  important  for  us 
to  notice  is  that  the  least  recognition  of  the  three  ideas  implies 
their  absoluteness,  even  though  this  absoluteness  be  not  granted. 
For  there  can  be  no  reason  for  the  slightest  recognition  of  any 
of  them  as  absolute  in  any  one  direction  which  does  not  involve 
its  absoluteness  in  all  directions.  If  because  of  a  law  of  conduct 
a  person  surrenders  self-interest  to  duty,  or  even  if  he  condemns 
another  for  failure  to  do  this,  he  has  recognized  the  absolute- 
?  ness  of  the  moral  law.  For  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  be 
applied  in  one  case  unless  it  is  to  be  applied  in  all  cases.  Indeed 
it  may  be  said  with  little  exaggeration  that  the  law  is  not  really 
obeyed  unless  it  is  obeyed  in  all  respects.  For  suppose  a  man 
should  be  in  debt  to  a  number  of  persons  all  of  whom  have  claims 
equally  just  and  resting  upon  the  same  basis,  and  suppose  that 
he  should  be  moved  by  his  conscience  to  pay  one  of  his  credi- 
tors in  full.  If  he  pays  one  and  does  not  pay  the  others,  his  act 
of  justice  toward  the  one  becomes  through  its  partialness  an  act 
of  injustice. 

There  is  this  advantage,  also,  in  the  method  of  reasoning  which 
we  have  been  following,  that  the  ideas  of  the  reason  are  funda- 

1  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  pp.  140-149. 


THE  POSTULATES  OF  THE  INTELLECT       99 

mentally  bound  up  with  religious  faith.1  They  are  the  elements 
which  to  a  large  extent  constitute  religious  feeling.  If  we  suc- 
ceed, therefore,  in  exciting  the  feelings  which  correspond  to  any 
one  of  these  ideas,  we  have  made  just  so  much  progress  toward 
awakening  religious  faith  itself.  Any  result  gained,  if  actually 
accepted,  is  not  a  mere  logical  result,  but  a  real  accomplishment. 
We  may  convince  a  person  without  converting  him,  but  if  we 
can  stimulate  these  ideas  in  his  mind,  he  is  at  least  so  far  on  the 
way  to  conversion,  if  not  already  converted.  Practically,  we 
find  that  religious  faith  is  easy  in  proportion  as  the  ideas  of  the 
reason  are  strong  in  our  nature,  even  though  we  may  not  see 
any  logical  connection  between  the  ideas  and  the  faith.  Thus 
faith  in  immortality  is  never  easier  to  hold  than  in  those  moments 
of  exaltation  when  one  is  inspired  by  pure  and  lofty  music,  and 
similarly  a  lofty  moral  faith  is  not  only  akin  to  religious  faith 
but  makes  that  religious  faith  easier. 

"Whene'er  a  noble  deed  is  wrought, 
Whene'er  is  spoken  a  noble  thought, 
Our  hearts,  in  glad  surprise, 
To  higher  levels  rise."  2 

If  the  analysis  which  we  have  been  making  is  complete,  our 
argument  will  be  found  to  follow  along  the  line  of  the  historical 
development  of  religion.  Now  in  studying  comparatively  the 
different  religions  of  the  world  we  have  seen  that  they  tend  to  fol- 
low one  or  another  of  the  paths  which  have  been  marked  out  by 
the  ideas  of  the  reason.  Thus  the  first  idea  underlies  the  various 
forms  of  Hindu  belief,  the  Mazdean  religion  follows  the  impulse 
of  the  second,  and  Greek  religion  has  the  inspiration  of  the  third. 
We  must  not  dwell  longer,  however,  upon  the  argument  from  the 
ideas  of  the  reason,  for  we  have  to  consider  another  form  of  the 
a  priori  argument,  the  postulates  of  the  intellect.  The  instinct 
of  thought  is  fundamental  in  human  nature.  The  longing  for 
knowledge  for  its  own  sake  comes  at  a  comparatively  late  stage 

i  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chaps.  IX-XII. 
2  H.  W.  Longfellow,  Santa  Filomena. 


100      THE  POSTULATES  OF  THE  INTELLECT 

in  the  development  of  human  thought.  At  first  men  think, 
practically,  just  as  they  act.  But  men  at  all  times  trust  in  their 
thought,  or  at  least  believe  that  any  difficulties  which  they  meet 
can  be  solved  by  more  thought.  Then  comes  the  love  of  truth 
for  the  sake  of  truth,  and  of  knowledge  for  the  sake  of  knowl- 
edge. The  two  inherent  impulses  in  human  thinking  are,  first, 
faith  in  thought  itself,  and,  second,  thought  for  the  sake  of  think- 
ing, that  is,  knowing.  The  postulate  of  the  intellect  is  the 
demand  for  that  which  shall  make  thought  and  real  knowledge 
possible. 

We  can  best  begin  this  part  of  our  discussion  by  referring  to 
Herbert  Spencer's  doctrine  of  the  Unknowable, — not  his  thought 
of  the  Absolute  as  unknowable,  which  we  have  already  had  occa- 
sion to  examine,1  but  the  doctrine  of  the  universe  as  unknowable. 
We  could  meet  his  argument  in  regard  to  the  unknowability  of 
the  Absolute.  For  the  position  which  he  held  involved  one  posi- 
tive element,  the  Absolute  itself,  and  we  could  show  that  the  term 
was  meaningless  unless  the  Absolute  were  recognized  as  Absolute 
Spirit.  It  is  more  difficult  to  meet  him  when  he  takes  the  more 
negative  position  that  the  universe  is  unknowable.2  What  knowl- 
edge we  have,  he  says,  is  through  the  nerves.  But  the  mind  and 
the  world  are  at  opposite  ends  of  the  nerves,  and  it  is  inconceivable 
that  the  nerves  should  give  to  the  mind  any  true  account  of  that 
which  lies  beyond  them.  His  argument  is  singular  in  that  he 
appears  to  forget  that  the  nerves  themselves  are  a  part  of  the 
objective  world,  and  that  we  have  no  right  to  assume  that  we 
know  anything  about  them.  But  he  presents  to  us  one  of  those 
logical  circles  which  are  as  hard  to  meet  as  any  argument. 

Spencer  justifies  agnosticism  in  regard  to  the  external  universe 
by  saying  that  such  thought  as  is  possible  for  us  serves  us  as  well 
as  if  it  were  true.  Wliat  it  gives  us  is  "transfigured  realism." 
By  this  he  does  not  at  all  mean  anything  like  a  transfiguration  in 
the  sense  of  a  glorification  of  realism,  but  simply  realism  under 
a  changed  form.  It  is,  he  says,  as  though  we  saw  the  universe 
reflected   in   a   distorting   mirror.     The   reflection   gives   no   real 

i  Chapter  I.  2  The  Principles  of  Biology,  Vol.  I,  p.  356. 


THE  POSTULATES  OF  THE  INTELLECT      101 

picture  of  the  objects  contained  in  it,  for  it  follows  the  lines  of  the 
mirror  rather  than  those  of  the  actual  objects.  Yet  every  change 
in  an  object  produces  a  corresponding  change  in  the  reflection, 
and  thus  we  have  a  world  which  for  all  practical  purposes  is  as 
good  as  though  it  were  real.  This,  however,  involves  the  assump- 
tion that  we  think  about  the  world  merely  for  our  own  advantage, 
that  we  may  adapt  ourselves  to  our  environment  and  gain  from 
it  the  greatest  possible  pleasure  with  the  minimum  of  pain.  But 
such  a  harmony  with  our  environment  for  merely  practical  pur- 
poses is  not  what  we  regard  as  one  of  the  most  important  ends 
in  thinking.  We  think  in  order  that  we  may  know,  and  we  wish 
to  know,  not  merely  that  we  may  use  the  object  of  our  knowledge, 
but  because  knowledge  is  in  itself  a  joy.  The  impulse  toward 
harmony  with  the  environment  is  not  only  practical  but  actual, 
and  Spencer  himself  yields  to  this  impulse  as  readily  as  anyone, 
and  thinks  for  the  pleasure  of  thinking  and  for  the  sake  of 
knowing.  For  what  relation  have  all  his  theories  of  the  ethereal 
origin  of  the  universe  to  our  present  ease  or  convenience  ?  And 
when  in  his  speculation  in  regard  to  the  future  he  reaches  for- 
ward toward  the  time  when  the  world  shall  again  become  an 
ethereal  mass  as  before,  is  it  because  he  expects  that  we  or  any 
of  our  posterity  are  to  be  alive  at  that  time,  or  because  we  can 
do  anything  to  postpone  or  to  advance  the  ultimate  results  ?  In 
all  this  he  follows  out  his  thought  simply  because  he  is  by  nature 
a  man  hungry  for  greater  knowledge. 

But  what  can  we  know  of  the  external  world  ?  Clearly  no  knowl- 
edge is  possible  upon  the  plane  of  sense  or  materialism.  The 
knowledge  of  the  spiritual  life,  however,  is  open  to  us  in  all  the 
various  forms  of  manifestation  in  which  it  is  presented.  Thus 
we  have  a  real  knowledge  of  other  persons.  The  mind  cannot 
comprehend  what  is  different  from  itself,  but  it  can  comprehend 
that  which  is  similar  to  itself,  and  although  I  cannot  understand 
what  heat  is  as  it  may  exist  in  the  bar  of  iron,  I  perfectly  compre- 
hend the  feeling  which  you  have  when  you  touch  the  hot  bar  of 
iron.  It  is  often  said  that  the  idealist  who  denies  the  existence 
of  the  world  of  matter  must  be  ipso  facto  a  solipsist,  and  must 


102      THE  POSTULATES  OF  THE  INTELLECT 

deny  equally  with  the  rest  of  the  external  world  the  existence  of 
other  units  of  subjective  consciousness.  But  this  position  is  evi- 
dently incorrect.  We  rightly  say  that  we  have  no  knowledge  of 
the  material  world,  for  the  senses  cannot  report  to  us  the  facts 
of  the  material  world  correctly.  But  we  can  have  knowledge  of 
the  feelings  of  others.  Between  our  own  feeling  and  the  feeling 
of  another  there  is  a  resemblance,  and  the  language  which  in  refer- 
ence to  the  material  world  was  a  foreign  tongue  here  becomes  the 
language  of  the  fact  itself.  Moreover,  in  the  second  place,  we 
have  real  knowledge  of  anything  which  is  the  embodiment  of  an 
idea.  For  instance,  I  utter  words,  I  use  a  certain  form  of  ex- 
pression. If  I  succeed  in  making  myself  clear,  these  words  have 
a  meaning  for  you.  They  are  transparent  and  through  them  you 
know  my  thought.  It  is  the  same  if  I  put  my  knowledge  into  a 
book.  The  book  is  an  object  in  the  material  world,  but  it  is  also, 
or  at  least  it  is  supposed  to  be,  the  embodiment  of  an  idea,  and  that 
idea  is  comprehended  by  you.  The  same  is  true  of  all  the  objects 
of  human  creation  in  so  far  as  they  embody  ideas.  There  may 
be  a  material  element  of  which  you  have  no  knowledge,  but  that 
may  be  left  out  of  the  account  for  the  present.  So  far  as  the  book 
or  the  picture  or  the  house  or  the  railway  or  the  cathedral  em- 
bodies some  idea  of  writer  or  artist  or  builder,  so  far  it  becomes 
transparent  to  you,  and  to  that  extent  you  have  knowledge  of 
your  environment.  What,  then,  is  needed  to  make  the  whole 
world  transparent  to  us  and  real?  Only  that  it  shall  be  the 
manifestation  of  spirit,  the  embodiment  of  an  idea.  Grant  this, 
and  the  universe  becomes  absolutely  comprehensible.  For  the 
demand  of  the  intellect  is  that  the  world  shall  be  thinkable.  The 
impulse  to  think,  which  is  fundamental  in  human  nature,  is  not 
satisfied  merely  to  play  with  thought,  or  to  consider  phenomena 
merely  for  practical  ends.  Men  think  in  order  that  they  may 
know  the  truth.  They  recognize  with  Hegel  that  only  that  which 
is  false  is  unthinkable.  Religious  faith,  therefore,  offers  precisely 
what  the  intellect  demands,  for  it  recognizes  in  the  universe  as  its 
very  essence  this  ideal  element,  the  manifestation  of  xAJbsolute 
Spirit. 


THE    POSTULATES    OF    THE    INTELLECT  103 

I  may  put  this  in  another  form.  We  often  use  the  term  "  object " 
loosely  as  we  do  the  term  "  subject,"  but  strictly  speaking  the  term 
"object"  is  meaningless  except  as  that  of  which  it  is  used  is  rela- 
tive to  a  subject.  Now  we  can  represent  the  world  to  ourselves 
only  as  object.  We  cannot  conceive  of  it  as  a  thing,  or  as  made 
up  of  things.  We  can  conceive  of  it  only  as  made  up  of  projected 
sensations  of  our  own.  Take  away  our  sight  and  hearing  and 
feeling  and  the  other  sensations,  and  what  is  left  ?  If  we  say,  that 
which  is  the  cause  of  all,  the  thing  in  itself,  even  as  we  answer  the 
thing  in  itself  becomes  a  thought.  We  remain  still  in  the  world 
of  thought  and  cannot  escape  from  it.  But  if  the  world  is  made 
up  of  our  objectified  sensations,  what  becomes  of  it  when  we  are 
not  there  ?  Does  it  spring  into  existence  as  we  look  at  it  ?  Gray 
sings  that  "many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen,"  but  is  this 
conceivable?  Can  there  be  color  or  fragrance  where  there  is 
no  one  to  see  or  smell  ?  The  only  escape  from  the  difficulty  is  to 
postulate  an  absolute  subject  to  which  the  world  shall  always  be 
related  as  absolute  object,  to  say  with  Theodore  Parker  whenever 
we  find  ourselves  in  some  new  and  beautiful  spot,  "  God  was 
here  before  me." 

In  all  this  we  have  done  nothing  in  the  way  of  proof.  We  have 
simply  considered  a  postulate  of  the  intellect.  The  impulse  to 
think  requires  that  the  universe  shall  be  thinkable,  that  it  shall  r 
be  transparent  and  real,  not  necessarily  to  your  mind  or  to  mine, 
but  conceivably  so,  and  this  need  postulates  that  which  religious 
faith  offers,  the  existence  of  Absolute  Spirit.  Dr.  Royce  has  ap- 
proached this  question  most  interestingly  from  the  opposite  side.1 
Basing  his  argument  upon  the  fact  of  error,  he  finds  that  the  only 
thing  which  cannot  be  open  to  error  is  the  possibility  of  error. 
How,  then,  he  asks,  is  error  possible?  Every  mind  reacts  in  re- 
lation to  its  environment  according  to  its  nature.  Every  indi- 
vidual looks  at  things  for  himself  and  takes  impressions  for  him- 
self. Every  one,  therefore,  being  what  he  is,  is  justified.  How, 
then,  are  we  to  recognize  the  possibility  of  error?  How,  for  in- 
stance, are  we  to  prove  that  the  man  whom  we  call  color-blind 

1  Josiah  Royce,  The  Religious  Aspect  of  Philosophy. 


104      THE  POSTULATES  OF  THE  INTELLECT 

does  not  after  all  see  the  world  as  it  really  is  ?  Dr.  Royce  finds 
that  what  is  needed  is  an  absolute  standard  of  measurement,  a  real, 
ideal  content  of  the  world,  and  an  absolute  mind  by  whose  thought 
of  the  world  the  truth  or  falsity  of  the  thought  of  finite  minds  may 
be  determined.  No  dynamic  relation  of  the  absolute  mind  with 
the  world  is  established.  This  should  follow,  however.  For 
unless  we  complete  Dr.  Royce's  thought  by  regarding  the  world 
as  the  manifestation  of  the  absolute  mind,  we  shall  have  on  the 
one  hand  an  absolute  mind  reacting  in  relation  to  the  world  as 
absolute,  and  on  the  other  hand  finite  minds  reacting  as  finite, 
and  there  will  be  the  same  possibility  as  in  the  case  of  two  finite 
minds  that  each  is  true  and  that  there  is  still  no  error.  As  creative 
thought  the  absolute  mind  becomes  the  true  standard,  for  since  it 
is  through  it  that  the  world  exists,  its  knowledge  of  the  world  must 
be  the  true  knowledge. 

Of  course  this  question  as  to  how  error  is  possible  is  only  the 
negative  aspect  of  the  question  which  we  had  just  before  consid- 
ered as  to  how  truth  is  possible.  Interesting  as  the  discussion  is,  it 
seems  to  me  better  to  make  the  postulate  in  the  positive  rather 
than  in  the  negative  form.  Not  only  do  we  believe  as  positively 
in  the  possibility  of  truth  as  in  the  possibility  of  error,  but  we 
could  not  conceive  of  the  possibility  of  error  at  all  if  we  did  not 
believe  that  ultimately  we  may  reach  the  truth. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  SECOND  GENERAL  DIVISION  OF  THE  DISCUSSION:  THE 
MOMENT  OF  NEGATION:  CREATION,  FREEDOM,  SIN  AND 
EVIL. — THEORIES  OF  CREATION:  AS  HAVING  A  BEGINNING: 
AS  WITHOUT  A  BEGINNING. — THE  DIFFICULTIES  OF  EITHER 
THEORY. 

We  have  come  now  to  the  second  general  division  of  our  dis- 
cussion. Under  the  first  division  we  have  had  to  do  with  ideal  re- 
lations, the  moment  of  abstract  affirmation.  We  have  now  to  con- 
sider the  moment  of  negation  or  separation.  The  unity  which  we 
have  reached  is  broken  up,  and  experience  enters  to  test  with  its 
apparent  exceptions  the  truth  of  the  a  priori  argument.  Here 
our  real  difficulties  begin,  the  practical  difficulties  which  always 
arise  when  one  passes  from  the  abstract  to  the  concrete,  from  the 
ideal  to  the  real.  The  ideal  circle  is  easy  to  comprehend.  It  is 
the  circle  as  actually  drawn  for  which  it  is  hard  to  find  the  formula. 

The  negation  has  three  stages,  which  correspond  to  the  three 
ideas  of  the  reason.  Over  against  the  idea  of  unity  there  is  found 
in  the  world  an  infinite  diversity.  The  doctrine  of  creation  pre- 
sents itself  as  the  first  stage  in  the  negation,  on  the  one  hand  the 
world  in  its  complex  variety,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  unity  which 
is  its  source.  What  can  we  understand  of  creation  ?  How  are 
we  to  represent  the  variety  of  the  world,  its  otherness,  its  relation 
to  absolute  unity  ?  The  antithesis  only  strengthens  as  we  reach 
the  second  stage  of  negation  in  the  doctrine  of  human  freedom. 
Not  only  is  the  creation  other  than  the  creator,  but  it  has  a  life  of 
its  own,  it  is  free  and  independent.  With  the  third  stage  in  the 
negation  this  freedom  and  independence  become  antagonism. 
The  individual  does  not  merely  follow  a  course  of  his  own  in  the 
freedom  of  his  will,  but  sets  himself  over  against  the  absolute  will. 
In  relation  to  the  idea  of  goodness  this  antagonism  is  found  to 


106  THE    DOCTRINE    OF   CREATION 

be  that  which  we  call  sin,  a  hostility  in  which  the  idea  of  unity 
seems  wholly  lost.  Finally,  in  relation  to  the  third  idea  of  the 
reason,  the  conflict  appears  in  still  another  aspect.  In  relation 
to  goodness  the  individual  takes  the  offensive  against  the  environ- 
ment. Now,  in  relation  to  beauty,  the  environment  has  its  re- 
venge upon  the  individual  and  puts  him  upon  the  defensive.  In 
this  antagonism  in  relation  to  beauty  the  problem  of  evil  is  pre- 
sented, the  problem  of  pain  and  suffering.  It  is  true  that  sin  also 
is  opposed  to  beauty,  that  sin  as  well  as  evil  is  a  discord.  But 
wfth  sin  the  antagonism  is  fundamentally  to  the  idea  of  goodness. 

In  considering  the  first  stage  in  the  negation,  the  doctrine  of 
creation,  we  have  first  to  recognize  the  different  views  of  creation 
that  have  been  held  or  that  may  be  held.  As  regards  its  relation 
to  time  there  are  the  theories,  a,  that  it  had  no  beginning,  and  b, 
that  it  had  a  beginning.  In  relation  to  substance  there  is  the 
theory,  a,  that  the  universe  was  created  out  of  something,  either 
(a')  the  divine  substance  or  (&')  some  pre-existent  matter,  and 
there  is  the  theory,  b,  that  it  was  created  out  of  nothing.  Thirdly, 
as  regards  the  method  of  creation  there  are  once  more  two  theories, 
«,  that  creation  was  a  matter  of  necessity,  and,  b,  that  it  was  a 
matter  of  freedom.  According  to  a  God  created  the  universe  by 
a  necessity  of  his  nature,  and  not  only  the  fact  but  the  form  of 
creation  was  a  matter  of  necessity.  According  to  b  both  the  fact 
and  the  form  of  creation  are  held  to  have  been  a  matter  of  free 
choice  on  the  part  of  God. 

If  these  theories  are  compared  together,  it  will  be  seen  that  all 
those  which  we  have  marked  a  involve  a  certain  conception  of 
creation,  and  all  those  which  are  marked  b  involve  another  con- 
ception. Those  which  are  marked  a  represent  the  form  of  thought 
which  may  be  called  philosophical,  while  the  theories  marked  b 
imply  the  form  of  thought  which  would  be  most  naturally  suggested 
by  religion.  I  do  not  here  make  this  distinction  absolute,  as 
though  the  philosophical  form  could  not  also  be  the  religious  form. 
I  merely  say  that  the  theories  marked  b  would  most  obviously, 
from  a  superficial  point  of  view,  be  suggested  by  religion.  The 
theories  marked  a  are  held  by  certain  theologians  and  are  not 


CREATION    IN    RELATION   TO    TIME  107 

hostile  to  religion.  It  is  for  us  to  learn,  if  we  can,  which  are  the 
forms  best  fitted  to  religious  faith.  The  theories  which  are  brought 
together  under  a  recognize  no  possibility  of  interruption  or  caprice; 
all  is  regular  and  inevitable.  Those  which  are  marked  b  either 
involve,  or  at  least  suggest,  a  dependence  upon  will.  Thus  in 
the  first  group,  the  theories  in  regard  to  the  relation  of  creation 
to  time,  the  idea  of  a  creation  which  has  no  beginning  most  naturally 
suggests  the  thought  of  necessity.  Such  a  creation  would  be  by 
its  very  nature  eternal.  The  theory  does  not  exclude  the  possibility 
of  volition,  but  it  falls  easily  into  line  with  the  philosophic  view 
of  the  universe  which  recognizes  no  break  or  crisis.  On  the 
other  hand  the  theory  of  a  creation  with  a  beginning  suggests 
more  naturally  an  arbitrary  act  of  will.  Similarly,  in  the  second 
group,  the  theory  of  a  creation  out  of  something,  and  especially 
out  of  the  divine  substance,  most  easily  lends  itself  to  the  principle 
of  necessity,  whereas  the  theory  of  a  creation  out  of  nothing  sug- 
gests again  an  arbitrary  act.  These  relations  culminate  in  the 
third  group  in  which  one  of  the  two  methods  of  creation  proposed 
is  necessary  and  the  other  voluntary. 

To  speak  first  of  the  relation  of  creation  to  time,  the  church  has 
generally  held  the  theory  that  creation  had  a  beginning.  The 
exceptions  have  chiefly  taken  the  form  of  a  belief  in  a  series  of 
creations  following  one  another  in  succession.  The  theory  of  a 
creation  with  a  beginning  has  appealed  to  theologians,  first,  I 
suppose,  because  of  its  greater  conformity  to  the  scriptural  account, 
and  in  the  second  place  because  of  the  greater  ease  with  which 
creation  is  conceived  as  having  a  beginning.  For  a  creation  is 
that  which  causes  something  to  begin  to  be  which  before  had  no 
being,  so  that  a  creation  without  beginning,  an  eternal  creation, 
would  seem  to  be  no  creation.  It  is  the  difficulty  which  we  have 
already  met  in  discussing  the  causa  sui.1  How  can  anything  be 
the  cause  of  itself  ?  and  how  can  that  be  caused  which  has  always 
existed?  Either  theory  of  creation  involves  certain  difficulties 
and  removes  others.  The  theory  of  a  creation  without  beginning 
presents  first  of  all  the  great  difficulty  that  it  implies  a  completed 

i  Page  75. 


108  THE    DIFFICULTIES    OF    EITHER    THEORY 

infinite,  a  thing  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  conceive.1  For  if 
we  have  a  series  of  events  which  has  no  beginning  and  which 
includes  the  present  moment,  then  the  series  is  completed  at  the 
present  moment.  But  since  it  has  no  beginning  we  have  a  com- 
pleted infinite.  Further,  to  draw  the  line  at  any  given  moment 
is  to  say  that  behind  that  moment  is  a  completed  infinite,  and 
since  the  number  of  such  moments  is  infinite  we  have  an  infinite 
number  of  completed  infinites.  Then,  since  the  number  of  events 
behind  moment  b  is  greater  than  the  number  behind  moment  a, 
is  the  infinite  behind  b  larger  than  the  infinite  behind  at  To 
measure  infinite  with  infinite  is  a  contradiction  in  terms.  It  is 
through  paradoxes  like  these  that  Kant  is  led  to  believe  in  the 
phenomenality  of  time.  They  all  have  to  do  with  the  quantitative 
infinitude,  and  many  of  the  difficulties  which  they  present  would 
not  occur  if  we  had  any  real  sense  of  what  is  meant  by  quantitative 
infinitude.  All  involve  measurement,  and  measurement  is  some- 
thing wholly  foreign  to  our  thought  of  the  infinite.  A  single  illus- 
tration will  show  what  I  mean.  Suppose  we  take  the  point  at 
the  end  of  a  spoke  in  a  wheel  which  is  revolving  with  infinite 
rapidity.  Now  if  we  lengthen  the  spoke  and  continue  the  motion 
of  the  wheel,  will  the  point  at  the  end  of  the  lengthened  spoke 
revolve  with  greater  rapidity?  If  it  must  move  more  rapidly 
than  the  first  point,  and  if  that  was  moving  with  infinite  rapidity, 
we  are  involved  in  inextricable  difficulty.  It  is  evident  that  the 
question  is  based  upon  a  completely  mistaken  notion  of  quantita- 
tive infinitude.  For  my  own  part  I  hardly  know  what  is  meant  by 
infinite  rapidity.  If  there  is  such  a  thing,  it  must  follow  that  the 
experiment  could  not  be  tried  at  all;  either  the  spoke  could  not 
be  lengthened,  or  the  wheel  would  move  more  slowly  than  before. 
The  difficulties,  however,  are  more  pressing  in  regard  to  time 
than  in  regard  to  space.  In  regard  to  space  the  difficulty  may  be 
stated  as  follows :  suppose  a  line  which  begins  with  a  certain  point 
and  then  is  prolonged  infinitely  in  one  direction,  and  suppose  a 
second  line  which  is  infinitely  prolonged  in  both  directions.  Is 
the  second  line  longer  than  the  first  ?     The  first  line  must  involve 

i  Bibliotheca  Sacra,  October,  1850,  Article  by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Tracy. 


THE    DIFFICULTIES    OF   EITHER   THEORY  109 

an  infinite  series  of  points,  and  yet  one's  impulse  is  to  say  that  the 
second  line  is  twice  as  long  as  the  first.  But  this  attempt  to  divide 
what  is  indivisible,  and  to  measure  what  is  measureless,  is  like 
marking  a  point  here  in  the  circumference  of  a  circle  and  another 
there,  and  then  asking  which  point  has  the  greater  length  behind 
it.  In  regard  to  time,  if  the  series  is  infinite,  we  do  have  at 
any  given  moment  a  series  which  is  at  the  same  time  complete  and 
infinite,  and  the  infinite  is  continually  pressing  forward  into  a  new 
infinitude.  We  get  rid  of  the  difficulty,  of  course,  if  we  assume 
the  phenomenality  of  time, — that  is  always  at  hand  as  a  sort  of 
waste-basket  into  which  our  difficulties  may  be  thrown.  But  if 
we  accept  that  theory  we  gain  nothing  practically.  We  may 
state  the  proposition,  but  when  that  is  done  we  can  think  no 
further.1 

These  difficulties  cannot  be  avoided.  Practically,  matter  may 
or  may  not  be  infinitely  divisible,  but  to  thought  there  is  a  possible 
infinitude  in  every  inch  of  space.  If  time  be  only  the  possibility 
of  succession,  that  possibility  may  become  infinite  at  any  moment, 
and  whether  the  world  has  existed  eternally  or  not,  there  is  the 
possibility  that  it  has  so  existed.  It  is  true  that  the  difficulty  which 
we  have  been  considering  is  not  one  of  religion.  It  is  purely 
philosophical,  a  difficulty  of  conception  which  must  remain  what- 
ever the  form  of  thought  which  we  adopt.  Yet,  if  religion  accepts 
the  theory  of  a  creation  without  beginning,  it  loses  an  important 
argument  which  has  been  based  upon  the  assumed  impossibility 
of  a  completed  infinite.  For  if  this  assumption  is  granted,  the 
series  which  makes  up  the  universe  must  have  had  a  beginning, 
and  since  it  could  not  have  had  a  beginning  without  a  cause,  we 
have  a  demonstration  of  the  fact  of  causation.  This  argument 
has  often  been  used  with  great  effect,  and  appears  to  bring  us 
face  to  face  with  the  fact  of  creation  which  it  assumes  to  prove,  and 
through  that  fact  with  the  power  of  God  himself  as  it  originates 
the  universe.  Furthermore,  the  theory  of  a  creation  without 
beginning  involves  for  religion  the  positive  difficulty  of  introducing 
any  teleological  principle.  Creation  implies  a  plan,  the  manifes- 
tation of  an  idea  in  the  universe.  All  its  elements  in  time  and 
i  Page  20. 


110  THE    DIFFICULTIES    OF    EITHER   THEORY 

space  are  members  of  a  whole.  Its  movement  is  an  advance  toward 
a  result.  But  what  sort  of  whole  can  that  be,  the  members  of 
which  are  numberless  in  space  and  eternal  in  time  ?  What  sort 
of  movement  toward  an  end  can  there  be,  what  idea  of  completion, 
in  a  universe  made  up  of  a  limitless  series  ? 

This  difficulty  is  clearly  recognized  by  Kant  in  the  Critique  of 
Pure  Reason.  After  showing  how  from  one  point  of  view  the  world 
of  the  understanding  is  too  small  for  the  reason,  and  the  world  of 
the  reason  too  large  for  the  understanding,  he  goes  on  to  show  that 
from  another  point  of  view  the  world  of  the  understanding  is  too 
large  for  the  reason,  and  the  world  of  the  reason  too  small  for  the 
understanding.  For  the  reason  demands  an  ideal  world,  and 
therefore  a  completed  world,  a  world  which  can  be  conceived  as 
a  unity,  a  whole.  The  understanding,  on  the  other  hand,  having 
to  do  with  the  great  successions  of  causation,  can  recognize  no 
limits  in  the  universe.  Dorner  also  recognizes  the  difficulty. 
Since  the  divine  love  may  be  conceived  as  infinite,  an  infinite 
number  of  individuals  is  needed  to  satisfy  that  love.  Yet  each 
individual,  he  finds,  must  be  different  from  every  other  individual, 
and  therefore  the  number  of  individuals  in  the  universe  cannot 
be  greater  than  the  number  of  the  variations  or  types  of  the  indi- 
vidual. Since  the  number  of  types  is  limited,  the  number  of  indi- 
viduals also  must  be  limited.1  Can  Dorner,  however,  assume 
that  the  number  of  types  or  variations  is  limited  ?  It  seems  to 
me  that  there  is  no  line  drawn  or  conceivable  at  which  the  process 
of  differentiation  will  stop.  There  must  be  the  same  possibility 
of  an  infinite  number  of  variations  among  individuals  that  there  is 
of  an  infinite  number  of  points  in  a  given  measure  of  space. 
Dorner  further  assumes  a  sort  of  timeless  world  both  before  the 
movement  of  creation  began  and  after  it  shall  end,  a  changeless, 
timeless  condition  which  gives  way  to  time  and  change  but  is  to 
reassert  itself  in  the  future.  It  is  not  unlike  the  idea  of  creation 
which  we  find  in  the  first  period  of  the  Mazdean  religion.  Dorner 
appears  to  use  the  phrase,  "when  time  shall  be  no  more,"  with  the 
meaning  which  has  been  popularly  given  to  it.     As  the  church 

i  System  der  Christlichen  Glaubenshhre,  §  34,  3. 


THE    DIFFICULTIES    OF    EITHER   THEORY  111 

looks  forward  to  a  period  when  time  shall  cease,  and  there  shall 
follow  an  angelic  creation  which  shall  be  eternal  and  removed 
from  all  limits  of  time,  so,  he  suggests,  there  may  be  no  difficulty 
in  recognizing  a  similar  celestial  condition  before  the  activity  of 
the  world  began.  As  we  have  already  seen,1  however,  the  phrase, 
"  when  time  shall  be  no  more,"  is  a  mistranslation  and  in  its  real 
meaning  the  passage  has  no  application  in  this  connection. 

The  fact  is  that  there  is  no  way  by  which  we  can  meet  this  diffi- 
culty presented  by  the  conflict  between  the  demand  of  the  reason 
and  that  of  the  understanding,  the  difficulty  of  conceiving  a  cre- 
ation which  is  at  the  same  time  the  manifestation  of  a  perfect 
plan  and  also  limitless.  It  is  a  difficulty  which  exists  because  of 
our  very  finiteness.  We  can  conceive  of  a  universe  in  which  the 
perfect  plan  is  always  approaching  completeness.  It  is  the  at- 
tempt to  conceive  the  process  not  only  as  without  end  but  also  as 
without  beginning  which  seems  to  us  so  difficult,  if  not  impossible. 
Yet  if  the  conception  of  creation  as  having  no  beginning  presents 
these  difficulties,  there  are  also  certain  other  difficulties  which  it 
avoids,  and  first  of  all  a  difficulty  connected  with  our  thought  of 
the  Absolute  which  has  been  a  favorite  argument  with  atheists. 
If  creation  had  a  beginning,  what,  it  is  asked,  was  God  doing 
before  the  creation  ?  A  question  foolish  enough  in  any  case, 
which  perhaps  might  best  be  answered  by  saying  that  it  is  none 
of  our  business.  This  difficulty  the  church  has  avoided  by  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  The  eternal  communion  between  the 
persons  of  the  Trinity,  the  generation  of  the  Son  and  the  proces- 
sion of  the  Holy  Spirit,  gives  a  content  to  an  eternity  which  other- 
wise would  be  unfilled. 

A  second  difficulty,  however,  also  connected  with  the  thought 
of  the  Absolute,  is  more  profound.  What  could  have  been  the 
motive  for  creation  ?  Why  should  God  create  at  all  ?  Why 
should  he  create  at  one  time  rather  than  another  ?  What  motive 
could  have  been  present  with  the  Creator  which  had  not  been 
present  from  eternity  ?  If  the  creation  was  without  a  motive,  it 
would  seem  to  have  been  an  act  of  caprice.  If  there  was  a  motive, 
it  could  not  have  proceeded  from  anything  external  to  the  Creator, 
i  Page  19. 


112  THE    DIFFICULTIES    OF    EITHER   THEORY 

for  according  to  the  hypothesis  nothing  external  then  existed. 
But  if  the  motive  was  from  within,  then  there  must  have  been 
some  previously  existing  need.  Some  have  said  that  there  was 
no  need,  but  only  the  desire  for  the  manifestation  of  the  divine 
love  or  of  the  divine  glory.  But  is  there  any  real  difference  be- 
tween the  two  positions  ?  No  need  is  more  pressing  than  the 
demand  for  love,  or  the  demand  for  activity  or  manifestation. 
The  difficulty,  however,  is  wholly  removed  if  we  accept  the  theory 
of  a  creation  without  a  beginning,  for  then  the  need  which  may 
have  existed  would  never  have  been  unsatisfied,  and  a  need  which 
from  all  eternity  has  been  satisfied  is  not  a  limitation  but  an 
added  completion.  It  is  interesting  to  notice  that  in  the  Vedanta 
the  same  question  presents  itself  and  is  answered  in  a  similar 
manner. 

Finally,  the  theory  of  creation  without  a  beginning  ends  to  a 
large  extent  the  conflict  between  science  and  religion.  What 
science  insists  upon  is  that  the  same  forces  have  always  tended 
to  act  in  the  same  way.  Their  action  may  have  been  modified  by 
reactions  among  themselves  so  that  at  different  periods  there  may 
have  been  different  results.  But  these  results  are  secondary.  The 
forces  themselves  have  always  been  tending  in  the  same  direction. 
Anything  in  the  nature  of  a  break,  anything  like  a  fresh  start  in 
the  history  of  the  world,  is  excluded  from  scientific  thought.  It 
insists  that  all  things  are  bound  together  by  the  same  laws  and  in 
the  same  successions  of  causation,  and  in  so  far  it  holds  firmly 
to  the  principle  of  absolute  unity  in  the  universe.  It  is  on  this 
ground  chiefly  that  it  has  based  its  opposition  to  theology.  There 
has  been  the  negative  objection  to  theology  on  the  part  of  scientific- 
men  that  theology  has  not  proved  its  position,  but  their  positive 
objection  has  been  on  the  ground  that  theology  has  maintained  a 
theory  of  interference,  a  system  of  interruptions,  by  which  the 
order  of  nature  has  been  continually  broken  in  upon.  But  if 
we  accept  the  theory  of  creation  without  a  beginning,  the  divine 
power  becomes  a  constant  in  the  history  of  the  world,  a  force 
which  can  be  always  calculated  upon  and  always  assumed.  It 
takes  its  place  as  the  absolute  force  which  is  always  present  in 


THE    DIFFICULTIES    OF    EITHER   THEORY  113 

and  behind  those  secondary  and  resultant  forces  which  are  recog- 
nized as  always  present.  And  just  as  science  recognizes  a  law  of 
growth  present  in  all  organisms,  and  acting  until  it  has  accom- 
plished its  end,  so  must  the  conception  of  the  divine  power  as 
present  in  the  world  from  eternity  become  as  truly  an  object  of 
scientific  recognition. 

Scientific  men  frequently  make  a  very  unscientific  use  of  the 
theory  of  divine  agency,  appearing  to  recognize  it  at  certain  points 
just  as  some  of  the  theologians  do.  Thus  Darwin  suggests 1  that 
at  the  beginning  God  may  have  breathed  the  breath  of  life  into 
one  or  more  forms,  although  after  that,  it  would  appear,  the  world 
was  left  to  take  care  of  itself.  Here  the  scientific  position  would 
be,  either  to  deny  that  God  breathed  the  breath  of  life  into  any 
form  whatever, — unless  indeed  the  phrase  "breath  of  life"  is  to 
be  understood  only  in  a  figurative  sense, — or  else  to  recognize  the 
divine  power  as  present  everywhere,  not  only  at  the  beginning  but 
also  throughout  the  movement  of  creation.  In  a  similar  way 
Wallace  assumes  that  the  processes  of  evolution  sufficed  until 
man  was  reached,  but  that  with  man  certain  faculties  can  be 
accounted  for  only  on  the  hypothesis  of  a  spiritual  nature,  super- 
added to  the  animal  nature.2  But  thus  to  conceive  of  the  divine 
power  as  inoperative  so  far  as  the  creation  in  general  is  concerned 
and  then  as  suddenly  manifesting  itself  when  a  knot  appears 
which  nothing  else  can  cut, — this  is  a  most  unscientific  use  of  the 
theory  of  divine  power.  If  the  divine  power  exists  at  all,  it  is 
everywhere  and  constant.  If  it  is  seen  more  distinctly  at  certain 
times  and  places  than  at  others,  that  is  because  of  our  limitations. 

There  is  another  form  of  this  unscientific  use  of  the  thought 
of  God  which  is  more  general.  It  appears  in  the  manner  in 
which  some  seek  to  find  God  in  one  portion  of  the  universe  and 
some  in  another.  There  are  some  persons  who  find  him  only  in 
the  unknowable,  others  only  in  the  knowable.  To  some  he  is  in 
all  mystery,  to  others  only  where  law  and  order  are  to  be  recognized, 
and  a  divine  purpose.  We  must  feel  great  sympathy  with  either 
view.     We  have  to  sympathize  with  those  to  whom  God  is  revealed 

i  The  Origin  of  Species,  Close  of  Chap.  XV.  2  Darwinism,  Chap.  XV. 


114  THE    DIFFICULTIES    OF   EITHER   THEORY 

in  the  order  and  purpose  of  the  world  as  they  are  seen  and  recog- 
nized, and  at  the  same  time  we  realize  that  there  is  no  manifesta- 
tion of  God  which  so  fills  the  soul  with  awe  as  the  thought  of  the 
infinite  and  absolute  being  who  is  beyond  the  power  of  human 
reason  to  find  or  comprehend.  There  is  another  view  with  which 
we  can  have  no  sympathy,  a  habit  of  thought  which  recognizes 
God  only  in  that  which  is  not  understood,  and  then,  if  an  explana- 
tion has  been  found,  considers  that  just  so  much  ground  has  been 
taken  from  religion  and  that  God  must  now  be  sought  in  some 
remoter  region.  There  are  people  who  have  a  fear,  and  others 
who  have  an  exultant  hope,  that  as  the  field  of  science  is  more  and 
more  enlarged,  no  place  will  be  left  for  the  thought  of  God.  The 
fact  is,  that  with  each  advance  of  scientific  knowledge  our  thought 
of  God,  instead  of  retreating,  simply  takes  on  a  new  and  often  a 
clearer  form.  The  only  scientific  thought  of  God  is  that  which 
recognizes  his  presence  and  power  not  under  one  form  or  another, 
or  at  this  or  that  moment  only,  but  under  all  forms  and  at  all 
times,  in  the  knowable  and  the  unknowable,  in  the  unknown  and 
in  the  known. 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  the  difficulties  which  we  have  been  con- 
sidering are  of  two  sorts.  They  are  in  part  metaphysical  and  in 
part  theological.  The  separation  between  them  may  be  some- 
what arbitrary,  but  it  is  important  enough  to  be  recognized.  Of 
the  metaphysical  difficulties,  there  is  on  the  one  side  the  diffi- 
culty of  conceiving  an  endless  series  without  beginning,  a  com- 
pleted infinite,  and  on  the  other  side  the  difficulty  of  conceiving 
an  uncaused  beginning.  The  one  has  to  do  with  our  power  of 
conception  and  the  grasp  of  our  thought,  the  other  concerns  the 
category  of  causation.  The  one  may  be  called  static,  the  other 
dynamic.  Of  the  theological  difficulties  the  first  is  the  difficulty 
of  finding  any  teleological  principle  in  the  conception  of  a  creation 
without  beginning  or  end,  and  the  other  is  the  difficulty  of  con- 
ceiving an  unmotived  beginning.  This  second  theological  diffi- 
culty is  similar  to  the  second  of  the  metaphysical  difficulties, 
but  there  we  had  to  do  with  a  difficulty  of  thought,  whereas  the 
theological  difficulty  arises  from  the  feeling  that  an  unmotived 


THE    DIFFICULTIES    OF   EITHER   THEORY  115 

act  is  more  or  less  irrational,  and  that  to  associate  such  an  act 
with  the  Creator  is  to  lower  our  conception  of  him. 

These  opposite  difficulties  tend  to  neutralize  one  another.  Are 
we  to  say,  then,  that  there  has  been  no  creation  ?  But  so  far  as 
the  metaphysical  difficulties  are  concerned,  they  meet  us  equally 
whether  we  take  the  thought  of  God  into  the  account  or  not, 
whether  we  assume  a  created  or  an  uncreated  universe.  Because 
we  have  thus  two  inconceivabilities  over  against  each  other,  are 
we  to  conclude  that  there  is  no  universe  ?  But  we  know  that  there 
is  a  universe.  Then  if  the  opposition  between  these  two  incon- 
ceivabilities does  not  prevent  us  from  recognizing  the  existence 
of  the  universe,  no  more  does  it  prevent  us  from  recognizing  the 
existence  of  the  universe  as  created. 

It  is  through  such  arguments  as  these  that  both  theist  and  atheist 
have  so  often  won  an  easy  victory,  each  over  the  other.  It  is  not 
necessary  that  we  should  decide  the  questions  which  they  raise. 
We  may,  however,  recognize  the  fact  that  the  theory  of  a  creation 
without  beginning  is  more  in  accordance  with  the  tendencies  of 
the  thought  of  the  day.  For  the  category  of  causation  which 
demands  a  creation  without  beginning  underlies  all  scientific 
thought.  Furthermore,  this  theory  implies  nothing  that  is  an- 
tagonistic to  theology.  For  Schleiermacher  is  right  in  so  far  as 
he  makes  the  doctrine  of  creation  consist  simply  in  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  absolute  dependence  of  the  universe  upon  God.  This 
is  all  that  religion  demands.  The  question  whether  creation  had 
a  beginning  or  not  is  one  which  concerns  science  rather  than  re- 
ligion. Religion  merely  affirms  creation.  It  is  for  science  to 
determine  so  far  as  it  can  the  method  of  creation.  We  look  at  a 
flower  and  enjoy  its  beauty,  or  we  look  upon  the  mountains  or 
the  sea.  All  that  religion  demands  is  that  we  shall  have  the  con- 
sciousness that  these  are  God's  creation,  the  manifestation  of  the 
divine  power.  When  we  come  to  ask,  how  did  God  make  the 
flower,  or  how  were  the  mountains  formed,  the  question  is  for 
science  to  answer.  Of  course  the  questions  as  to  method  have 
an  interest  for  religion.  When  I  say  that  they  do  not  especially 
concern  religion,  I  mean  simply  that  they  are  questions  which 


116  THE    DIFFICULTIES    OF    EITHER   THEORY 

religion  is  not  obliged  to  answer.  Religion  may  accept  and  use 
the  answers  which  science  makes.  It  may  feel  a  deeper  awe  in 
the  presence  of  the  mountains,  a  fuller  sense  of  the  manifestation 
of  the  divine  power,  when  science  has  told  how  they  were  brought 
forth.  But  what  is  essential  to  it  is  the  fact  and  not  the  method 
of  the  manifestation.  It  is  like  the  service  which  a  friend  has 
rendered.  All  that  friendship  really  needs  to  know  is  that  the 
friend  has  done  the  service.  Yet  friendship  is  glad  to  know  just 
how  the  service  was  performed,  and  rejoices  in  all  the  special  acts 
of  thoughtfulness  which  have  their  part  in  the  completed  service. 
A  second  and  fundamental  proposition  of  Schleiermacher's  is 
that  creation  and  conservation  are  the  same.1  This  implies  that 
creation  has  no  beginning  and  no  end,  that  the  act  of  creation 
is  continuous  with  the  existence  of  the  results  of  creation.  Here, 
however,  is  an  antinomy.  For  creation  involves  two  elements, 
on  the  one  hand  the  dependence  implied  in  the  relation  of  the 
creation  to  the  Creator,  and  on  the  other  hand  a  certain  indepen- 
dence, or  rather  interdependence,  in  that  which  is  created,  a  de- 
pendence of  one  part  upon  another,  which  is  what  we  mean  by 
reality.  But  if  the  universe  is  created  afresh  every  moment,  how 
can  there  be  any  mutual  interdependence,  any  reality  of  existence  ? 
If  there  is  no  relation  of  past  to  present,  how  can  there  be  any 
unity  ?  We  are  tempted  to  fall  back  into  the  position  of  the  later 
Buddhists,  that  the  world  is  merely  an  appearance,  a  dream,  or 
to  accept  Berkeley's  view  that  we  are  all  the  time  receiving  fresh 
impressions  from  the  divine  power.  We  have  here  something 
like  the  relation  of  the  rays  of  light  to  the  sun.  Each  ray  is  de- 
pendent upon  the  sun,  and  yet  there  is  no  light,  strictly  speaking, 
but  only  a  collection  of  rays,  or  rather  undulations,  each  of  which 
has  its  source  in  the  sun's  action.  That  is,  the  light  at  one  mo- 
ment or  in  one  place  has  no  relation  of  dependence  to  the  light  at 
another  moment  and  in  another  place.  But  we  recognize  inter- 
dependence as  the  fundamental  element  in  reality.  A  real  uni- 
verse is  one  in  which  all  the  parts  are  dependent  one  upon  an- 
other. 

i  Der  Christliche  Glaube,  Berlin,  1843,  §§  36-41,  46-49. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

theories  of  creation,  continued. — vorstellungen :  the 
word;  body  and  soul;  child  and  parent. — creation 
in  relation  to  the  created:  supremacy  of  spirit  in 
the  universe  the  mark  of  creation. — the  account  of 
creation. — scientific  theories:  as  to  the  beginning 
of  the  world;  as  to  the  nature  of  the  world. — the 
atomic  theory. — force  and  will. 

In  dealing  with  the  question  of  creation  and  trying  to  find  a 
reconciliation  for  the  antinomy  which  it  presents,  we  cannot 
expect  to  speak  with  accuracy  or  definiteness.  The  question  is 
too  vast,  it  lies  too  far  beyond  all  human  experience.  All  that  we 
can  hope  to  do  is  to  find  some  vorstellungen,  some  forms  of  repre- 
sentation, which  may  be  suggestive  even  if  they  are  inadequate. 
There  are  three  of  these  which  have  entered  into  common  thought 
and  speech,  each  of  which  needs  to  be  complemented  by  the 
others.  The  first  is  the  one  most  commonly  used  in  the  Bible, 
and  is  perhaps  most  familiar  to  the  thought  of  the  Church.  It  is 
creation  by  the  word.  Although  the  phrase  "the  word"  is  to  be 
understood  literally  as  it  occurs  in  the  Old  Testament,  it  was 
very  early  given  a  special  significance  of  which  the  spoken  word 
is  only  a  symbol.  This  form  of  representation  expresses  in  the 
most  absolute  manner  the  dependence  of  the  world  upon  God. 
It  leaves  no  room  for  independence  in  the  world,  or  for  any  under- 
lying reality  except  that  which  is  received  from  God.  The  world 
is  simply  the  result  of  the  divine  command.  If  we  go  a  step  further, 
however,  and  consider  the  representation  somewhat  more  ab- 
stractly, we  find  that  we  have  presented  in  it  the  objectifying  of 
the  divine  will.  For  "the  word"  is  the  simplest  from  in  which 
our  ideas  can  be  made  objective  to  ourselves  and  to  the  world 


118  VORSTELLUNGEN :     THE   WORD 

about  us.  Therefore  by  the  phrase,  "creation  by  the  word," 
we  understand  that  the  divine  idea  is  made  objective,  or  given 
an  objective  existence.  This  vorstellung,  however,  offers  us  no 
recognition  of  any  material  element  apart  from  the  objectification 
of  the  divine  idea.  What  form,  then,  of  interdependence,  and  so 
of  reality,  can  we  find  in  such  an  objectified  idea  ?  Our  answer 
lies  in  the  recognition  of  the  fact  that  this  idea,  like  all  ideas,  is 
concrete.  We  speak  sometimes  of  an  abstract  idea.  No  idea  can 
be  wholly  abstract,  and  the  divine  idea,  of  which  the  universe  is 
the  manifestation,  is  the  most  concrete  of  all  ideas.1  Therefore 
it  involves  elements,  and  these  elements  must  depend  one  upon 
another.  For  the  idea  is  an  organic  whole  which  consists  in  all  its 
parts  as  all  its  parts  consist  in  it,  and  in  which  each  part  demands 
all  the  other  parts  and  all  the  parts  demand  each  part.  Further, 
since  this  organic  whole  is  an  absolute  whole,  the  relations  of 
interdependence  must  be  more  truly  absolute  here  than  anywhere 
else.  Thus  we  find  to  a  certain  extent  what  we  are  looking  for, 
namely,  the  dependence  of  all  upon  the  divine  will  and  power,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  interdependence  and  reality  of  the  parts. 

If  the  idea  is  considered  in  relation  to  time,  two  elements  are 
to  be  recognized,  first,  that  of  permanence,  of  unchangeability, 
the  eternal  thought  as  it  is  in  the  mind  of  God  himself,  and  second, 
the  element  of  change,  of  sequence,  which  is  involved  in  the  man- 
ifestation of  the  divine  thought.  Here  again,  in  the  sequence  of 
the  elements,  is  involved  the  same  interdependence.  We  find, 
indeed,  a  union  more  complete  than  that  which  is  recognized  in 
the  common  thought  of  dependence,  for  we  have  working  together 
and  complementary  to  each  other  the  efficient  cause  and  the  final 
cause.  We  have  the  absolute  interdependence  in  which  that  which 
comes  before  and  that  which  comes  after  are  bound  together. 
This  is  seen  in  any  organic  product.  The  growth  of  the  plant, 
for  instance,  is  occasioned  as  truly  by  the  principle  of  final  causa- 
tion as  by  that  of  efficient  causation;  the  seed  which  a  plant  is 
to  bear  is,  from  one  point  of  view,  as  truly  the  cause  of  its  growth 
as  is,  from  another  point  of  view,  the  seed  which  produces  it.  If 
a  man  builds  a  house,  the  foundation  is  as  truly  dependent  upon 
i  Pages  49,  51,  55. 


VORSTELLUNGEN :  BODY  AND  SOUL       119 

the  roof  as  the  roof  upon  the  foundation.  A  vorstellung  like  this 
leaves  a  great  many  questions  unanswered,  but  at  least  it  enables 
us  to  conceive  the  possibility  of  an  answer  to  the  question  which 
we  are  considering,  the  reconciliation  of  the  absolute  dependence 
of  the  creation  upon  God  with  that  interdependence  among  the 
elements  which  is  necessary  in  order  that  creation  shall  be  real. 

The  second  form  of  representation  is  offered  in  the  relation  of 
the  body  to  the  soul. 

"All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
Whose  body  nature  is,  and  God  the  soul."1 

It  is  a  vorstellung  more  often  used  by  the  poets  and  philosophers 
than  by  the  theologians,  although  Schleiermacher  approaches  it 
when,  in  his  Reden,  before  he  arrives  at  the  thought  of  God,  he 
reaches  the  thought  of  the  world-spirit.  There  are  three  views 
of  the  relation  between  the  body  and  the  soul.  First  there  is 
what  would  be  called  the  Platonic  view,  that  body  is  the  result  of 
soul.  According  to  the  second  view,  body  and  soul  are  inde- 
pendent of  each  other.  This  is  the  traditional  view  generally 
taken  by  certain  religious-minded  people  who  look  at  things 
chiefly  from  the  outside.  Body  and  soul  have  each  a  certain  in- 
dependent existence,  and  at  some  early  stage  the  soul  is  introduced 
into  the  body.  Then  there  is  the  third  view,  the  view  which  is 
held  by  the  materialists,  which  regards  the  soul  as  resulting  from 
the  body.  I  mention  the  three  views  only  that  I  may  emphasize 
more  strongly  the  first  of  the  three  as  that  which  serves  our  pur- 
pose best.  I  am  not  assuming  in  advance  that  this  view  is  true 
and  the  others  false.  The  true  relation  between  body  and  soul 
is  something  which  does  not  concern  us  at  this  point.  I  simply 
accept  the  first  view  as  the  one  which  will  best  serve  as  a  form  of 
representation  for  our  thought  of  God  in  relation  to  the  universe. 
It  is  a  plausible  view,  even  if  we  do  not  fully  accept  it.  We 
see  how  a  thoroughly  healthful  body  is  simply  the  manifestation 
of  the  life  of  the  spirit.  Indeed  there  are  many  who  hold  that 
not  only  the  healthful,  normal  body,  but  also  the  diseased  body, 

i  Pope,  Essay  on  Man,  Ep.  I,  267,  268. 


120  VORSTELLUNGEN :     CHILD    AND    PARENT 

is  the  manifestation  of  the  soul ;  we  are  all  familiar  with  the  theory 
of  the  "  faith  cure,"  that  if  a  person  is  ill  it  is  his  own  fault,  that 
the  trouble  is  not  in  his  body  but  in  his  spirit.  Furthermore 
while  the  body  is  thus  dependent  upon  the  soul,  we  find  in  the 
body  various  centres  of  activity.  In  the  lower  forms  of  life  these 
centres  or  ganglia  can  be  to  a  certain  extent  separated  and  each 
will  continue  its  activity.  The  same  thing  is  seen  sometimes  in 
the  animals  of  a  higher  order,  as  when  a  hen  whose  brain  has 
been  removed  still  retains  a  certain  form  of  activity,  or  as  when  we 
find  activities  still  present  in  a  human  limb  which  has  been  wholly 
separated  from  any  perceptible  relation  to  the  central  ganglia. 
Now  suppose  that  while  the  body  as  the  manifestation  of  the  soul 
has  its  own  central  consciousness,  each  of  these  ganglia  should 
have  at  the  same  time  a  certain  independent  consciousness.  We 
should  then  have  various  centres  of  consciousness  and  yet  one 
common  consciousness  embracing  all.  This  thought  is  not 
foreign  to  science,  although  it  is  maintained  that  in  all  probability 
the  consciousness  of  the  various  ganglia  is  much  less  when  they 
are  in  relation  with  a  central  consciousness  than  when,  as  in  the 
lower  orders  of  creatures,  the  ganglia  constitute  all  that  there  is 
of  life  or  consciousness.  It  has  also  been  suggested  that  the  sub- 
consciousness which  is  present  during  waking  hours  but  is  lost 
in  the  fulness  of  the  central  consciousness,  makes  itself  felt  in  the 
dream,  when  the  central  consciousness  is  to  a  large  extent  dormant, 
just  as  the  light  of  the  stars  is  lost  in  the  blaze  of  the  sunshine  but 
is  perceived  as  soon  as  the  sun  has  set.  But  with  these  theories 
we  have  nothing  to  do.  I  am  only  trying,  in  what  is  perhaps  a 
rather  gross  if  not  fantastic  manner,  to  illustrate  the  possibility 
of  the  interdependence  of  the  elements  of  the  universe  among 
themselves,  and  even  of  a  certain  consciousness  of  their  own,  at 
the  same  time  that  all  are  united  in  a  common  dependence  upon 
the  one  absolute  consciousness  which  embraces  the  whole. 

The  last  of  the  three  forms  of  representation  is  found  in  the  re- 
lation between  a  child  and  its  parent.  According  to  this  view 
the  universe  is  to  be  regarded  as  born  of  God  through  a  process 
of  eternal  generation.     If  we  examine  in  more  detail  the  relation 


VORSTELLUNGEN :     CHILD    AND    PARENT  121 

upon  which  our  vorstellung  is  based,  we  find  that  at  first  the  child 
lives  the  life  of  its  mother.  There  is  a  moment  in  which  the  lives 
are  hardly  to  be  called  distinct,  and  then,  as  the  little  organism 
completes  itself,  the  dependence  upon  the  life  of  the  mother  con- 
tinues. In  this  relationship  the  child  is  at  first  wholly  uncon- 
scious, but  by  degrees  consciousness  comes,  and  with  conscious- 
ness recognition.  Finally,  as  knowledge  and  recognition  increase 
with  the  fuller  growth  of  the  child,  we  have  again  a  union  between 
child  and  parent  more  real  than  that  which  existed  between  them 
at  the  first,  the  union  of  love.  For  whereas  their  first  union  was 
material,  this  is  spiritual. 

I  know  very  well  that  if  any  one  of  these  illustrations  were  to 
be  pushed  too  far,  it  would  fail  us  at  one  point  or  another.  I  have 
suggested  the  three  in  order  that  I  may  not  make  too  much  of 
any  one  of  them.  Each  furnishes  some  elements  which  may 
help  to  make  the  relation  between  the  Creator  and  the  creation 
conceivable,  however  vaguely  and  imperfectly.  If  in  the  im- 
perfect relation  suggested  by  these  different  forms  of  representa- 
tion we  find  imperfectly  accomplished  the  results  which  we  de- 
mand, we  can  conceive  the  possibility  of  the  complete  relation  in 
which  those  results  shall  be  perfectly  accomplished. 

Two  terms  are  frequently  met  in  theological  discussions  in 
regard  to  the  relation  of  God  to  the  world,  the  terms  "  immanence  " 
and  "transcendence."  The  first  taken  by  itself  involves  panthe- 
ism; God  is  wholly  in  the  world,  is  wholly  lost  in  it.  On  the  other 
hand  the  term  "transcendence"  taken  by  itself  implies  what  is 
called  "  deism."  Of  course  there  is  no  inherent  reason  why  the 
term  "  deism "  should  have  a  different  meaning  from  the  term 
"theism."  But  historically  "deism"  has  come  to  express  a  con- 
ception of  God  in  relation  to  the  world  as  wholly  outside  of  the 
world;  there  is  a  gulf  between  God  and  the  world;  God  is  the 
Unknowable.  In  view  of  the  different  forms  of  representation 
which  we  have  been  considering,  which  of  these  terms  are  we  to 
use  ?  Which  expresses  the  relation  of  the  soul  to  the  body  ?  which 
the  relation  between  mother  and  child  ?  I  think  we  should  not 
deny  either  the  one  or  the  other.     Certainly  we  may  not  deny 


122  VORSTELLUNGEN  I     CHILD    AND    PARENT 

immanence,  for  the  soul  is  diffused  through  the  body,  and  there 
is  no  part  of  the  body  which  is  not  a  manifestation  of  the  soul; 
every  part  of  the  body  feels  and  reacts,  every  part  is  amenable  to 
the  will.  Yet  we  should  not  deny  the  transcendence  of  the  soul, 
for  the  soul  has  a  consciousness  which  embraces  the  body,  so 
that  the  soul  can  say,  "my  body."  In  a  similar  way  the  life  of 
the  mother  is  immanent  in  the  child,  and  yet,  in  a  much  larger 
sense  than  that  in  which  the  soul  transcends  the  body,  the  life  of 
the  mother  transcends  the  life  of  the  child.  Any  form  of  state- 
ment which  shall  be  in  the  most  profound  sense  religious  must 
include  both  immanence  and  transcendence.  Immanence  gives 
to  religion  that  mystical  element  without  which  it  is  always  im- 
perfect and  superficial.  Transcendence  preserves  to  this  mystical 
element  its  religious  character  and  saves  it  from  becoming  panthe- 
ism. 

It  may  be  asked  whether  with  the  last  of  the  three  forms  of  rep- 
resentation we  have  not  introduced  a  physical  element  into  the 
conception  of  the  divine  activity.  Is  not  an  emanation  suggested, 
a  physical  process  ?  The  question  is  important,  not  only  because 
it  shows  how  inadequate  a  single  form  of  representation  is  by 
'itself,  but  also  because  the  answer  may  help  to  bring  the  different 
forms  somewhat  more  closely  together.  We  have  found  that  we 
can  think  of  God  only  as  absolute  spirit.  Therefore  the  ideal 
must  constitute  his  whole  activity.  In  ourselves  we  separate  the 
physical  and  the  spiritual,  distinguishing  between  the  physical 
products  of  our  activity  and  the  spiritual.  The  distinction  is  one 
of  those  which  arise  out  of  the  incompleteness  of  the  spiritual  life 
as  we  find  it  in  ourselves.  In  absolute  spirit  there  can  be  no 
such  distinction,  and  thus  there  can  be  no  physical  emanation 
from  the  divine  being.  The  fundamental  difficulty  in  the  various 
theories  of  emanation  as  they  have  prevailed  in  different  forms 
of  religious  thought  has  consisted  in  the  failure  to  recognize  this 
truth.  Take,  now,  two  phrases  which  are  used  again  and  again 
in  theological  discussion  to  express  the  relation  between  the  Father 
and  the  Son,  the  "  eternal  generation "  of  the  Son,  and  the  Son 
as  "the  word  of  God."     The  first  naturally  suggests  something 


THE    ACCOUNT    OF   CREATION  123 

like  a  physical  process,  an  emanation,  the  second  an  intellectual, 
a  spiritual  process.  The  one  involves  a  physical,  the  other  a 
purely  ideal  element.  Yet  the  two  are  used  continually  to  rep- 
resent the  same  process,  and  the  fact  that  they  are  so  used  shows 
how  readily  in  our  thought  of  the  divine  activity  we  give  up  the 
distinction  between  the  physical  and  the  spiritual,  or  rather  lose 
the  physical  altogether  in  the  spiritual. 

Thus  far  we  have  been  considering  creation  in  its  Godward 
aspect.  Now  we  have  to  ask  what  creation  means  as  we  look 
earthward.  What  does  it  mean,  not  as  heretofore  in  relation  to 
the  Creator,  but  in  relation  to  the  created  ?  First  of  all,  then,  it 
means  that  the  world  is  absolutely  dependent  upon  the  Creator, 
the  complexity  of  the  world  upon  the  unity  of  the  Creator.  But 
since  the  Creator  upon  whom  the  world  depends  is  absolute  spirit, 
it  follows,  secondly,  that  the  creation  must  have  an  ideal  content, 
must  be  in  some  sort  the  manifestation  of  spirit.  The  mark  of 
creation  in  the  universe  is  the  supremacy  of  spirit,  and  since 
spirit  acts  not  mechanically  but  ideally,  the  mark  of  creation  is 
found  to  be  the  supremacy  of  the  ideal  element  in  the  world.  If 
the  world  is  a  creation,  then  in  it  the  spirit  comes  to  its  own. 

To  determine  whether  this  mark  is  present  or  not,  we  must 
look  at  the  history  of  creation.  But  where  are  we  to  find  this 
history  ?  Shall  we  take  the  story  in  Genesis  ?  If  we  turn  to  it 
we  recognize  in  the  account  three  points  which  are  fundamental. 
First  there  is  the  fact  of  creation,  the  dependence  of  the  world. 
Second,  there  is  the  recognition  of  an  order  or  sequence  in  cre- 
ation. Third,  we  find  a  certain  secondary  dependence,  what  I 
have  before  called  an  interdependence,  among  the  elements  of 
creation;  we  read  that  "the  earth  brought  forth"  and  that  all 
things  were  bidden  to  increase  and  multiply.  Thus  far  the  story 
in  Genesis  conforms  to  our  idea  of  creation.  When,  however, 
I  say  "  conforms  to  our  idea  of  creation,"  the  very  phrase  suggests 
that  there  is  something  with  which  this  story  is  compared.  This 
something  is  the  account  of  creation  which  is  given  by  science. 
The  attempt  to  reconcile  the  two  accounts  is  a  matter  which  does 
not  at  all  concern  us.     I  doubt  if  such  a  reconciliation  can  be 


124  SCIENTIFIC    THEORIES 

thoroughly  carried  out.  At  the  same  time  we  should  not  yield 
too  readily  to  the  tendency  among  certain  thinkers  at  the  present 
time,  I  will  not  say  to  exaggerate  the  difficulty,  but  to  make  light 
of  the  attempts  which  have  been  made,  as  though  any  attempt 
in  itself  implied  an  absence  of  scientific  knowledge.  The  effect 
produced  upon  my  own  mind  in  reading  such  discussions  as  those 
of  Professor  Dana  and  Professor  Guyot1  was  not  wholly  convinc- 
ing, but  I  wondered  that  the  argument  could  be  carried  through 
as  successfully  as  it  was.  Still,  the  very  fact  that  we  apply  this 
test  to  the  account  in  Genesis  shows  that  we  look  to  science  for 
our  standard.  Our  demand  is  not  that  science  shall  conform  to 
Genesis  but  that  Genesis  shall  conform  to  science,  and  those  who 
are  interested  in  the  attempt  to  reconcile  the  two,  realize  that  the 
only  test  which  will  be  generally  accepted  is  that  of  science. 

We  have  already  referred  to  science  a  number  of  important 
questions  which  are  often  thought  of  as  belonging  to  theology. 
You  may  recall  the  illustration  of  the  flower  which  I  used  when 
we  were  considering  the  doctrine  of  creation  as  the  recognition  of 
the  dependence  of  the  universe  upon  God ; 2  all  that  concerned 
religion  was  to  know  that  God  made  the  flower,  how  he  made  it 
was  for  science  to  tell.  Now  we  may  consider  the  world  a  greater 
flower.  Religion  is  satisfied  with  the  general  doctrine  of  creation. 
For  the  history  of  creation  religion  looks  to  science.  Religion  asks 
of  science  four  questions.  First,  had  the  world  a  beginning,  and 
if  so,  when  ?  Second,  what  is  the  nature  of  the  world  ?  what  is 
it  that  was  created?  Third,  what  has  been  the  nature  of  the 
history  of  creation  ?  Fourth,  in  this  history  do  we  find  that  the 
ideal  element  is  preponderant  ?  I  hardly  need  to  say  that  answers 
in  full  to  these  questions  are  not  to  be  expected,  lying  as  they  do 
outside  the  main  purpose  of  our  discussion.  They  are  questions 
which  involve  the  study  of  a  lifetime,  and  then  would  be  left  un- 
answered. All  that  we  can  do  is  to  glance  at  what  is  most  funda- 
mental in  the  answers,  so  far  as  they  can  be  given.  Of  the  four 
questions  the  one  which  concerns  us  most  is  the  last,  the  question 

i  Bibliotheca  Sacra,  January  and  July,  1856;  also  January  and  April,  1855. 
i Page  115. 


AS   TO   THE    BEGINNING    OF   THE    WORLD  125 

whether  it  is  possible  to  recognize  in  the  history  of  the  world  the 
supremacy  of  spirit.  The  answer  to  this  question  involves  what 
is  commonly  called  the  a  posteriori  argument  for  religion,  and  we 
shall  consider  it  at  greater  length  than  is  possible  in  our  examina- 
tion of  the  answers  to  the  other  questions. 

Had  the  world  a  beginning?  Science  tells  us  that  the  world  as 
we  know  it  had  a  beginning.  The  calculations  of  Sir  William 
Thomson1  placed  this  beginning  some  one  hundred  million  years 
ago.  His  method  was  to  study  the  process  of  cooling  which  the 
earth  has  undergone,  asking  how  long  it  must  have  taken  for  the 
earth  to  cool  down  to  the  degree  of  temperature  which  we  find 
at  present.  In  answering  this  question  Sir  William  at  last  reached 
a  state  of  things  at  which  his  calculations  no  longer  applied,  and 
they  were  brought  to  an  abrupt  stop.  At  that  point,  then,  the 
world  must  have  begun.  Here,  however,  a  collision  occurs.  The 
believers  in  the  theory  of  a  process  of  development  and  natural 
selection  require  a  very  long  period  to  meet  the  necessities  of 
their  very  slow  process.  The  world  has  moved  forward  by  in- 
finitesimal stages,  and  although  ten  million  years  make  a  long 
period,  that  period  seems  hardly  long  enough.  On  the  other 
hand,  this  collision  strengthens  those  who  believe  in  the  epochal 
nature  of  creation.  Clifford2  is  here  as  almost  always  interest- 
ing and  helpful.  He  recognizes  with  Thomson  the  fact  of  such 
a  catastrophe,  but  denies,  and  with  reason,  that  this  catastrophe 
would  mark  an  absolute  beginning.  It  is  simply  the  beginning 
of  the  world  as  we  know  it,  the  beginning  of  an  epoch  which  be- 
longs to  us,  the  beginning  of  an  aeon,  but  not  an  absolute  begin- 
ning. To  illustrate  his  position  he  uses  the  figure  of  a  poker 
which  has  been  heated  and  is  cooling.  The  mathematician  can 
calculate  the  rate  at  which  the  poker  cools,  and  as  he  traces  back 
the  state  of  the  poker  just  as  Thomson  traced  back  the  history 
of  the  world,  he  reaches,  as  Thomson  did,  a  point  where  his  cal- 
ulations  fail.  There  is  no  longer  any  application,  he  has  reached 
the  crisis.     But  this   crisis   is  not  the  moment   when  the   poker 

1  Popular  Lectures  and  Addresses  (Nature  Series),  1894,  Vol.  II. 

2  W.  K.  Clifford,  Lectures  and  Essays,  "The  First  and  the  Last  Catastrophe." 


126  AS    TO   THE    NATURE    OF   THE    WORLD 

began  to  exist.  It  is  simply  the  moment  when  the  poker  was 
taken  from  the  coals.  To  an  unscientific  mind  this  conclusion 
of  Clifford's  seems  most  plausible.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that 
we  accept  the  position  taken  years  ago  by  Spencer  in  his 
First  Principles,1  that  the  movement  of  the  heavenly  bodies 
is  retarded  by  the  presence  of  a  certain  ether,  that  this 
retardation  points  forward  to  a  time  when  all  these  bodies 
shall  be  drawn  in  upon  the  sun,  and  that  the  inrush  of  the 
heavenly  bodies  upon  the  sun  will  cause  an  intense  heat  and 
the  resumption  of  an  ethereal  form  and  the  beginning  of  a 
new  creation.  Such  a  beginning  as  this  which  Spencer  recog- 
nizes would  be  as  truly  indicated  by  Thomson's  calculation  as 
would  an  absolute  beginning.  We  have  simply  the  scientific 
formula  for  that  which  the  Hindu  expresses  unscientifically  when 
he  illustrates  Brahma  by  the  tortoise.  The  tortoise  puts  out  his 
legs,  and  then  is  the  beginning  of  the  universe;  he  draws  in  his 
legs,  and  the  creation  ends.  We  need  not  interfere  in  the  strife 
between  the  mathematicians  and  the  teachers  of  the  theory  of 
development.  We  have  only  to  recognize  that  the  world  as  we 
know  it  had  a  beginning. 

What  is  the  nature  of  the  world  ?  What  is  it  that  was  created  ? 
We  find  in  the  world  as  we  see  it  two  factors,  spirit  and  matter. 
For  spirit  we  have  all  along  accepted  a  formula.  That  which  is 
the  basis  of  all  knowledge  is  beyond  definition.  If  we  try  to 
define  it,  we  bring  it  into  relation  with  a  further  ultimate  and 
have  still  to  seek  a  definition  for  this  ultimate.  But  we  know 
spirit,  even  if  only  in  its  manifestation.  We  know  it  with  that 
real  knowledge  which  is  the  only  knowledge,  we  know  it  through 
consciousness.  We  have  also  to  a  certain  extent  a  consciousness 
of  matter,  but  what  matter  is,  what  remains  when  we  take  from 
the  world  all  its  ideal  elements,  is  hard  to  say.  The  answer  most 
commonly  given  is  found  in  the  theory  of  atoms,  points  infinitely 
indivisible  and  minute,  which  unite  in  varied  forms  to  make  the 
world,  modified  by  all  the  changes  into  which  they  enter,  and  yet 
retaining  a  certain  individuality.     When,  however,  we  consider 

i  Chap.  XXIII,  "Dissolution." 


THE    ATOMIC    THEORY  127 

these  atoms  in  relation  to  the  thought  of  creation,  we  meet  two 
difficulties.  In  the  first  place  they  make  the  idea  of  creation  most 
difficult.  These  little  points  of  matter  are  absolutely  antithetical 
to  spirit.  Spirit  is  subjective,  and  these  atoms  are  so  purely  ob- 
jective. Spirit  is  a  unity,  and  the  atoms  are  of  such  an  infinite 
multiplicity.  The  conception  of  any  transition  of  spirit  to  the 
atoms  is  so  difficult  that  it  is  not  strange  that  a  belief  in  the  atoms 
as  such  has  been  found  in  many  minds  to  be  opposed  to  the  idea 
of  creation,  and  that  the  thought  of  a  material,  atomic  universe 
has  been  substituted  for  the  thought  of  a  spiritual  universe.  Of 
course,  if  we  accept  the  idea  of  an  ultimate  duality,  eternal  matter 
independent  of  and  over  against  eternal  spirit,  then  this  theory 
of  the  atoms  serves  well  enough.  But  such  a  duality  is  opposed 
to  the  absoluteness  of  the  divine  nature  which  our  conception  of 
God  demands.  It  implies  in  so  far  the  exclusion  of  the  creative 
power,  the  formation  rather  than  the  creation  of  the  world. 

The  second  difficulty  which  is  presented  in  the  atomic  theory, 
although  it  has  been  less  keenly  felt,  is  more  significant.  These 
atoms  themselves  are  only  projected  sensations  which  we  have 
made  objective  to  ourselves.  Our  whole  thought  of  the  external 
world,  as  we  have  already  seen,  is  made  up  of  our  own  sensations 
to  which  we  have  ascribed  an  external  reality.  We  explain  this 
external  reality  not  as  consisting  in  our  projected  sensations  but 
as  the  cause  of  our  sensations.  Having  the  sensations  we  infer 
the  cause.  I  do  not  go  through  the  world  with  the  feeling  that 
there  is  something  there  which  causes  in  me  this  or  that  sensation, 
whether  of  hardness  or  warmth  or  color  or  form,  but  having  these 
sensations  I  make  a  world  to  correspond  with  them  and  believe 
in  the  reality  of  this  world.  Now,  however  minute  these  atoms 
may  be,  they  represent  nothing  which  we  have  not  already  reached 
in  this  way.  It  is  as  though  we  represented  them  by  looking  at 
the  elements  of  the  world  through  an  inverted  spy-glass  which 
reduces  them  indefinitely.  They  are  simply  reductions  of  what 
we  have  already  found.  Take,  for  instance,  the  undulatory  theory 
of  light.  These  undulations  we  have  never  seen;  they  are  too 
minute  to  be  seen  even  if  otherwise  they  might  be  visible.     Yet 


128  FORCE   AND    WILL 

there  is  nothing  in  the  conception  of  such  undulations  which  is 
not  taken  from  our  thought  of  undulations  that  we  have  seen.  So 
when  the  materialist  presses  us  hardest  he  is  simply  urging  us 
back  into  an  idealism  from  which  no  logic  can  drive  us.  When 
he  presents  to  us  the  atoms  as  the  ultimate  explanation  of  the 
world,  and  we  ask  him  what  he  means  by  his  atoms,  we  find  that 
the  terms  in  which  he  explains  them  are  taken  wholly  from  the 
realm  of  our  inner  and  subjective  experience. 

In  the  attempt  to  meet  one  or  the  other  of  these  difficulties 
other  theories  have  been  suggested.  Sir  William  Thomson  sub- 
stitutes whirls  of  ether  or  "vortex-rings"  in  place  of  the  hard 
atoms.1  According  to  this  theory  an  attenuated  ether  underlies 
all  existence,  so  different  from  matter  in  the  ordinary  sense  that 
it  cannot  rightly  be  called  matter.  Thus  the  molecules  of  gas 
have  a  movement  as  rapid  as  that  of  a  swift  train,  and  light  moves 
two  hundred  thousand  miles  in  a  second.  If  we  start  with  this 
ether  we  can  see  that  the  thought  of  creation  becomes  easier,  for 
the  world  curdles  as  it  were  into  being  at  a  touch,  as  indeed  at 
another  touch  the  whirls  may  take  a  new  flight  and  the  world 
vanish.  Yet  no  matter  how  different  the  ether  may  be  from 
ordinary  matter,  still  it  is  matter.  Whatever  is  not  spirit  is  matter, 
however  attenuated  the  form  may  be  in  which  it  appears.  Even 
if  we  were  to  grant  that  there  are  in  the  universe  the  three  elements, 
spirit,  ether  and  matter,  ether  would  still  be  in  the  same  relation 
to  spirit  as  matter,  it  would  be  antithetical  to  spirit.  Further, 
the  ether  is  still  nothing  but  our  projected  sensation.  The  ethereal 
undulations  which  form  light  are  simply  undulations  of  motion 
seen  through  the  little  end  of  the  telescope.  The  theory  of  the 
whirls  of  ether  brings  us  no  nearer  to  the  solution  of  our  problem 
than  we  were  before. 

Another  theory,  that  of  Boscovitch,  is  that  matter  consists  of 
centres  or  points  of  force.  I  do  not  know  that  Boscovitch  had 
any  problems  of  theology  at  all  in  mind,  but  certainly  his  theory 
has  been  found  useful  by  theologians.     Picton  discusses  it  interest- 

1  See  The  Unseen  Universe;  also  W.  K.  Clifford,  Lectures  and  Essays,  "The 
Unseen  Universe." 


FORCE   AND    WILL  129 

ingly  in  his  Mystery  of  Matter,1  and  Martineau  in  A  Study  of  Re- 
ligion.2 We  know  force,  it  is  argued,  only  as  the  manifestation 
of  will.  Therefore  we  may  assume  that  all  force  is  the  manifesta- 
tion of  will.  Then  all  the  forces  of  the  universe  are  the  mani- 
festation of  an  absolute  will.  But  if  what  we  commonly  call 
matter  is  conceived  as  consisting  in  points  of  force,  and  force  is 
the  manifestation  of  the  absolute  will,  then  matter  has  really 
passed  away  and  the  world  is  simply  the  manifestation  of  a  divine 
will  and  power.  Martineau  distinguishes  between  force  as  mani- 
fested in  matter  and  in  the  human  spirit.  He  finds  all  force  in 
matter  to  be  the  direct  manifestation  of  the  divine  will,  but  man 
has  had  intrusted  to  him  as  it  were  a  storage  battery  to  use  as  he 
will.  God  has  relinquished  to  man  this  force  which  we  know  as 
free  will. 

The  solution  of  the  problem  which  this  theory  offers  is  interest- 
ing and  ingenious.  But  the  riddle  is  solved  too  easily.  I  am  re- 
minded of  a  sentence  which  once  impressed  itself  upon  me  as  I 
came  upon  it  in  a  European  guide  book, — "Beware  of  short 
cuts."  They  are  as  dangerous  in  theology  as  among  the  moun- 
tains of  Switzerland.  The  proof  which  is  given  is  simple  and 
direct,  but  the  fundamental  connection  is  not  fairly  shown.  We 
know  force  as  the  manifestation  of  will,  but  we  know  so  little  of 
will  that  we  cannot  infer  that  all  force  is  therefore  a  manifestation 
of  will.  We  are  certainly  familiar  with  the  fact  of  force  as  exerted 
by  ourselves,  and  we  also  find  at  least  an  appearance  of  force  mani- 
fested between  the  objects  of  nature,  a  necessary  dependence  of 
one  upon  another.  I  do  not  see  why  the  subjective  and  objective 
manifestations  of  force  are  not  thus  as  different  as  the  subjective 
and  objective  manifestations  of  heat,  allowing,  of  course,  for  this 
great  difference,  that  the  kind  of  force  with  which  we  are  familiar 
we  see  in  its  beginning  whereas  heat  is  seen  only  in  its  effect.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  recognize  force  not  as  existing  in  material 
things  at  all,  but  only  as  a  manifestation  of  will  which  compels 
us  to  recognize  the  divine  presence  in  the  universe,  we  meet  two 

1  J.  A.  Picton,  The  Mystery  of  Matter  and  Other  Essays,  I. 

2  Vol.  I,  pp.  405-407. 


130  FORCE   AND    WILL 

difficulties,  first,  the  difficulty  of  generalization  which  I  have  just 
referred  to, — of  showing  that  because  in  certain  cases  spirit  can 
originate  force  it  therefore  follows  that  all  force  is  necessarily 
dependent  upon  spirit, — and  second,  the  difficulty  of  finding  in 
our  own  manifestation  of  force  the  revelation  of  the  divine  method. 
We  are  conscious  of  force  as  a  nisus,  and  we  have  seen  that  even 
omnipotence  can  hardly  be  conceived  except  as  the  overcoming  of 
some  difficulty.1  Still  we  cannot  easily  carry  over  our  thought  of 
a  nisus  into  our  conception  of  the  manifestation  of  the  divine  will. 
If,  however,  we  find  this  difficulty  slight,  there  remains  the  very 
interesting  view  which  is  presented  by  Professor  William  James.2 
Professor  James  suggests  that  we  have  no  real  consciousness  of 
any  effort.  We  press  something,  for  instance,  and  appear  to  be 
conscious  that  we  are  exerting  force,  but  what  we  really  are  con- 
scious of  is  the  rigidity  of  the  muscles  produced  by  the  exercise 
of  the  force.  We  have  no  consciousness  connected  with  the  nerves 
of  motion.  The  motor  nerves,  the  efferent  nerves,  are  not  sentient. 
We  have  only  the  consciousness  of  reaction  brought  through  the 
efferent  nerves.  A  different  theory  is  maintained  by  some  phy- 
siologists. Wundt,  for  instance,  makes  our  knowledge  of  the 
different  aspects  and  relations  of  our  environment  depend  largely 
upon  the  amount  of  innervation  which  is  necessary  in  order  to 
come  in  contact  with  them.3  But  this  theory  is  mistaken. 
Furthermore,  according  to  Professor  James,  all  our  action  is  re- 
flex action,  which  takes  place  spontaneously  as  this  or  that  ob- 
ject calls  it  forth.  What  we  do  by  our  will  is  to  keep  an  idea 
firmly  fixed  in  the  mind.  If  it  remains  there  long  enough  the 
act  takes  place  of  itself.  Here  is  suggested  an  explanation  of 
various  acts  or  impulses  of  a  somewhat  puzzling  character,  such 
as  the  tendency  of  a  person  who  is  learning  to  ride  a  bicycle  to 
run  into  the  object  which  he  is  especially  trying  to  avoid,  or  the 
desire  to  throw  one's  self  down  which  we  sometimes  experience 
when  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice. 

Schopenhauer  recognizes  two  elements  in  the  external  world, 

i  Page  53.  2  The  Feeling  of  Effort. 

3  Vorlesungen  uber  Menschen-  und  Thicrseele,  Bd.  I,  p.  222. 


FORCE   AND    WILL  131 

first  the  world  as  phenomenal,  and  then  behind  this  the  presence 
of  will.  We  live,  he  argues,  in  a  world  of  phenomena  behind  which 
no  one  can  look  except  in  his  own  case.  In  his  own  case  every  one 
finds  the  basis  of  his  being  in  will.  Then  if  he  is  a  will  embodied 
in  some  phenomenal  manifestation,  what  he  finds  in  relation  to 
himself  he  is  justified  in  expecting  to  find  everywhere.1  Of 
course  one  may  easily  object  to  this  that  the  term  "will"  has  no 
meaning  for  us  except  as  it  is  connected  with  consciousness,  that 
will  is  the  conscious  manifestation  of  force.  But  there  are  three 
forms  under  which  force  is  manifested.  Besides  the  manifesta- 
tion consciously  in  ourselves  and  the  manifestation  in  the  external 
world  mechanically,  there  is  an  intermediate  form  of  manifesta- 
tion in  organized  bodies.  To  the  mechanical  aspect  we  naturally 
apply  the  term  "force,"  and  to  the  conscious  aspect  the  term 
"will,"  but  there  is  no  specific  term  by  which  we  may  represent 
the  intermediate  form  of  manifestation,  the  tendency  to  action 
which  is  inherent  in  a  body  in  itself.  If  we  must  apply  to  it  one 
or  the  other  of  the  terms  already  familiar  to  us,  it  may  be  a  question 
whether  we  ought  to  use  the  term  "force"  with  its  suggestion  of 
mechanism,  or  the  term  "will"  which  suggests  consciousness.  In 
our  ordinary  use  of  the  term  "will"  we  certainly  have  in  mind 
only  the  conscious  aspect  of  the  force  which  we  are  considering, 
and  if  at  the  same  time  that  we  take  away  from  the  force  its  con- 
scious aspect  we  continue  to  apply  the  same  term  as  before,  I  do 
not  see  that  the  term  can  retain  any  special  meaning  except  as  it 
may  indicate  that  this  inherent  tendency  is  more  nearly  allied  to 
will  than  to  mechanical  force. 

i  The  World  as  Will  and  Idea,  Book  II. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

SCIENTIFIC  THEORIES  AS  TO  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  WORLD,  CON- 
TINUED: IDEALISTIC  THEORIES:  MIND-STUFF. — CREATION 
THE  OBJECTIFICATION  OF  THE  DIVINE  IDEA:  LIMIT,  IMPEN- 
ETRABILITY, DIVISIBILITY. — THEORY  OF  ORGANIC  DEVELOP- 
MENT:   NATURAL  SELECTION. — THE  A  POSTERIORI    ARGUMENT. 

The  theories  in  regard  to  the  nature  of  the  world  which  we  first 
considered  were  based  wholly  upon  its  material  aspect.  We  then 
considered  the  theories  in  which  the  attempt  has  been  made  to 
reconcile  the  material  and  the  spiritual  aspects.  These  theories 
present  both  a  subjective  and  an  objective  element.  The  sub- 
jective element  is  made  more  or  less  clear,  but  the  external,  ob- 
jective element  remains  as  unexplained  as  ever.  Over  against 
all  these  theories  of  either  kind  are  the  idealistic  theories  which 
deny  to  the  external  world  any  real  existence.  Thus  Fichte  rec- 
ognizes only  individual  spirits  and  the  absolute  spirit  or  God;  all 
the  objects  which  make  up  the  external  world  are  the  products 
of  our  own  imagination;  this  imagination,  however,  is  not  lawless 
or  arbitrary  but  acts  through  the  laws  of  our  own  spiritual  being, 
and  these  laws  are  similar  for  all  individual  spirits,  so  that  all  live 
in  a  similar  world;  furthermore,  these  laws  of  the  individual 
imagination  are  dependent  upon  the  absolute  spirit  of  which  each 
individual  spirit  is  a  manifestation.  We  have  also  in  various 
forms  the  theory  that  the  world  is  simply  the  divine  thought  itself, 
— the  theory  of  Berkeley,  for  instance,  that  the  world  is  the  divine 
thought  impressing  itself  on  the  individual  spirit  and  causing  the 
ideas  which  represent  the  external  world,1  or  again  what  may  be 
called  the  Neo-Hegelian  view,  that  the  world  is  the  divine  thought 
into  which  man  enters  to  a  certain  extent. 

1  Of  the  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge,  CXLIX. 


MIND-STUFF  133 

Such  views,  however,  do  not  quite  satisfy  us.  We  are  con- 
scious of  a  faith  that  there  exists  in  the  world  about  us  something 
real,  which  manifests  itself  through  all  these  different  forms  of 
sensation.  Not  only  are  we  ourselves  real  personalities,  with  an 
independent  consciousness  of  our  own,  but  also  the  conviction  is 
continually  borne  in  upon  us  that  objects  about  us  have  similarly 
a  real  existence.  In  fact  we  should  find  it  hard  to  tell  where  to 
draw  the  line  between  the  things  which  have  real  existence  in 
themselves  and  those  which  are  purely  the  creation  of  thought. 
Fichte  tells  us,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  that  the  animal  kingdom  is  as 
unreal  as  the  inanimate  objects  about  us,  that  only  the  individual 
spirits  and  God  have  real  existence.  Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  we 
have  the  same  sort  of  reason  for  recognizing  the  existence  of  the 
animal  world  that  we  find  for  recognizing  the  existence  of  the 
human  world,  and  if  we  go  so  far,  why  are  we  to  stop  ?  Can  we  be 
sure  that  there  may  not  be  in  all  organized  bodies  some  life  which 
is  similar,  although  less  in  degree  ?  Who  can  assure  us  that  in 
the  universe  itself  there  is  not  such  life  ?  May  it  not  be  in  very 
truth  that 

"The  sun  himself  shines  heartily, 
And  shares  the  joy  he  brings"?1 

With  this  in  mind  we  are  naturally  more  or  less  attracted  to  a 
view  which  is  held  by  Leibnitz  and  which  underlies  the  thought  of 
Spinoza,  although  it  appears  much  less  prominently  in  Spinoza's 
philosophy  than  in  the  philosophy  of  Leibnitz, — the  theory  of 
monads,  the  theory  that  there  is  nothing  that  has  not  a  life  of  its 
own  and  up  to  a  certain  extent  its  own  consciousness.  Clifford 
presents  the  same  theory  in  a  different  form  under  the  term  mind- 
stuff.2  This  mind-stuff  consists  of  atoms,  each  of  which,  like  the 
monads  of  Leibnitz,  has  its  conscious  and  its  unconscious  elements, 
its  spiritual  and  its  material  aspects.  Certain  complications  which 
Clifford  introduces,  such  as  the  notion  that  our  own  consciousness 

1  R.  W.  Emerson,  The  World-Soul. 

2  Lectures  and  Essays,  "Body  and  Mind,"  "On  the  Nature  of  Things-in-Them- 
selves." 


134  MIND-STUFF 

is  built  up  of  the  mind-stuff,  do  not  concern  us  here.  According 
to  his  general  view  the  world  about  us  is  to  be  conceived  as  mani- 
festing at  every  point,  if  not  consciousness,  at  least  a  sub-con- 
sciousness. Everywhere  is  found  a  kinship,  although  there  are 
differences  in  degree  which  the  imagination  cannot  compass. 
According  to  Spinoza  the  degree  of  consciousness  varies  accord- 
ing as  the  organization  is  more  or  less  complicated.1 
,2,This  view  is  the  most  convenient  of  all  which  we  have  thus  far 
considered,  so  far  as  our  thought  of  the  external  world  is  con- 
cerned. Starting  with  our  own  consciousness,  we  find  some- 
thing similar  to  it,  although  in  less  degree,  in  all  objects.  We  can 
thus  think  the  world  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  without  disregard- 
ing to  any  great  extent  the  demands  of  our  spiritual  nature  can 
realize  the  concrete  existence  that  is  about  us.  All  these  monads, 
however,  have  their  material  aspect,  and  this  material,  unconscious 
element  involves  all  the  difficulties  which  we  have  found  presented 
in  the  theory  of  the  unconscious  atoms.  Our  problem  still  is  how 
to  get  outside  of  ourselves,  to  think  of  that  which  is  not  thought. 
There  are  three  terms,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  to  the  problem, 
three  elements  which  are  to  be  reconciled:  first,  the  reality  of  the 
external  world,  second,  the  knowability  of  the  external  world, 
and  third,  the  fact  that  we  find  in  the  external  world  something 
which  is  the  antithesis  of  spirit.  It  is  in  the  last  two  terms  that 
the  antinomy  appears.  On  the  one  hand  is  the  knowability  of 
the  external  world;  on  the  other  hand  is  the  fact  that  this  world 
which  is  to  be  knowable  is  in  part  at  least  the  antithesis  of  spirit 
and  therefore  seems  to  be  to  that  extent  unknowable. 

We  cannot  expect  to  find  a  complete  solution  of  this  problem. 
All  that  we  can  do  is  to  indicate  the  direction  in  which  a  solution 
may  be  looked  for,  or  to  reduce  the  problem  to  its  lowest  terms. 
I  think  that  here  as  in  every  difficulty  the  solution  must  be  sought 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  difficulty  itself.  Like  the  man  who  is 
splitting  a  log  of  wood,  we  must  strike  the  knot.  In  stating  our 
problem  I  have  just  said  that  the  external  world  which  is  to  be 
knowable  is  the  antithesis  of  spirit.     But  if  it  is  the  antithesis  of 

i  Ethica,  Pars  II,  Prop.  XIII,  Schol. 


CREATION    AS    OBJECTIFICATION  135 

spirit,  it  stands  in  the  most  absolute  relation  to  spirit.  For  no 
elements  are  so  closely  bound  together  as  those  which  are  anti- 
thetical or  polar  to  each  other,  so  that  one  is  the  correlative  of  the 
other.  The  positive  pole  of  a  magnet  is  the  absolute  antithesis  of 
the  negative  pole,  and  vice  versa;  yet  each  has  its  very  existence  in 
the  other.  We  can  conceive  of  the  external  world  only  as  object,1 
meaning  by  object  that  which  is  correlative  to  subject.  Now  if 
we  are  to  say  just  what  we  conceive  matter  to  be,  we  shall  define 
it  as  the  abstract  of  objectivity.  According  to  the  statement 
which  is  generally  made,  matter  is  that  which  remains  when  all 
ideal  content  has  been  abstracted.  But  if  the  world  is  considered 
as  object  in  the  sense  in  which  object  is  correlative  to  subject, 
the  ideal  content  cannot  be  abstracted.  By  the  very  process  of 
our  thoughts  we  give  content,  and  if  the  world  is  truly  object  the 
content  cannot  be  removed.  Therefore  our  abstract  of  objectivity 
can  have  no  existence  by  itself  apart  from  subjectivity,  and  so 
matter,  which  we  have  defined  as  the  abstract  of  objectivity,  can 
have  no  existence  of  its  own.  Further  there  can  be  no  conscious- 
ness of  objectivity  in  general;  all  consciousness  must  have  a 
definite  content.  Thus  we  see  once  more  that  our  abstract  of 
objectivity  is  reached  only  by  a  process  of  our  own  thought  and 
has  no  existence  in  itself.  Matter  cannot  exist  as  apart  from 
spirit,  or  apart  from  the  manifestation  of  spirit. 

What,  then,  do  we  mean  by  creation  ?  Creation  can  be  only  the 
objectification  of  the  divine  idea,  not,  however,  in  the  sense  that 
the  world  is  simply  the  divine  thought,  as  according  to  the  Neo- 
Hegelian  view,  but  with  the  implication  that  each  created  thing, 
while  of  course  dependent  upon  the  absolute  spirit,  has  also  a 
certain  self-reference,  a  real  existence  of  its  own.  But  all  ideas 
are  concrete.  The  world,  as  Spinoza  has  well  said,  is  the  mani- 
festation of  a  single  idea.  This  idea  is  concrete.  It  is  organic, 
part  over  against  part,  each  part  distinct  from  every  other  part. 
Furthermore,  in  the  objectification  of  this  idea  each  element  in 
the  process  is  kept  distinct;  there  is  no  blurring.  If  all  this 
is  so,  every  part  must  be  wholly  transparent  to  thought,  and  there 

i  Page  103. 


136  NATURAL    SELECTION 

can  be  no  limitation  to  the  analysis  to  which  the  idea  is  open. 
"What  is  involved  in  this  ?  Here  is  the  fact  that  every  part,  every 
element,  in  the  objectifieation  of  the  divine  idea,  is  distinct  and  is 
kept  distinct  from  all  others.  We  have,  therefore,  first,  the  thought 
of  limit,  and  then,  as  implied  in  limit,  the  fundamental  attribute 
of  matter,  impenetrability  and  infinite  divisibility.  According 
to  this  view  of  creation,  matter  is  not  merely  abstract  objectivity, 
but  limit.  Furthermore,  this  limit  manifests  itself  by  surface,  and 
when  we  speak  of  solid  matter  we  mean  that  go  as  deeply  as  we 
will,  or  break  as  often  as  we  will,  we  find  always  a  fresh  surface. 
Here  we  have  at  the  same  time  impenetrability  and  also,  in  the 
infinite  possibility  of  the  manifestation  of  surface,  infinite  divis- 
ibility. This  view  of  creation,  therefore,  sets  us  free  from  the 
difficulty  in  regard  to  matter. 

We  have  reduced  the  thought  of  creation  to  its  simplest  form. 
The  one  difficulty  which  remains  is  that  which  is  inherent  in  any 
attempt  to  conceive  the  actual  creative  act  itself.  The  actual 
objectifieation  of  the  divine  idea  is  something  which  we  can  no 
more  expect  to  understand  than  we  can  that  separation  of  the 
elements  of  consciousness  into  the  I  and  the  me  which  is  the 
ultimate  fact  of  the  spiritual  life. 

WTe  may  recognize  the  objectified  idea  as  existing  in  three  forms : 
first,  in  the  mechanical  world,  in  the  attraction  by  which  the  ele- 
ments are  held  together,  each  acting  upon  the  others  from  with- 
out; second,  in  the  world  of  organized  bodies  where  the  activity 
is  from  within;  and  third,  in  the  self-assertion  of  individual 
elements  in  conscious,  spiritual  life.  Any  one  of  these  forms 
is  as  real  as  the  others,  but  through  the  different  degrees  of  man- 
ifestation a  progress  is  evident  from  the  lower  form  upward  until 
we  reach  self-consciousness. 

What  has  been  the  nature  of  the  history  of  creation  ?  At  pres- 
ent science  presents  it  to  us  under  the  form  of  evolution,  unbroken 
by  any  interference  from  without.  The  category  of  causation  is 
carried  back  indefinitely.  So  far  as  the  history  of  organic  life 
is  concerned,  it  is  presented  under  the  form  of  natural  selection. 
That  is,  natural  selection  is  the  special  form  under  which  the 


NATURAL    SELECTION  137 

general  theory  of  evolution  or  development  is  applied  to  organic 
life.  We  need  to  distinguish  accurately  at  the  outset  between  the 
two  forms,  between  natural  selection  and  development  in  general. 
We  hear  this  or  that  view  spoken  of  as  "Darwinism,"  only  to 
find  on  closer  examination  that  it  expresses  a  belief  not  in  natural 
selection  but  in  the  general  theory  of  development. 

What  are  the  kinds  of  argument  upon  which  belief  in  organic 
development  rests  ?  In  the  first  place,  the  general  basis  of  all  the 
arguments  is  the  recognition  of  the  absolute  law  of  causation,  the 
absolute  post  hoc,  ergo  propter  hoc.  It  is  true  that  there  is  a  fal- 
lacious use  of  this  argument  which  permits  the  loosest  kind  of 
reasoning.  Thus  if  we  may  designate  the  existing  order  of  things 
at  any  moment  by  the  series  a,  b,  c,  d,  z,  and  the  existing  order  at 
any  other  moment  by  the  series  a',  b',  c',  d',  z',  then  the  faulty 
use  of  the  argument  post  hoc,  ergo  propter  hoc,  would  be  to  connect 
any  one  term  in  the  second  series  immediately  with  the  correspond- 
ing term  in  the  first  series,  to  take  for  granted  that  a'  was  the 
result  of  a,  or  z'  the  result  of  z.  The  savage  beats  his  pans  and 
makes  his  outcry  to  frighten  away  the  demon  that  is  obscuring 
the  sun;  the  demon  flees,  the  eclipse  passes,  and  the  sun  shines 
again;  therefore  the  beating  of  the  pans  caused  the  flight  of  the 
demon.  In  the  absolute  use  of  the  argument,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  whole  order  of  things  as  it  exists  at  any  one  moment  is  con- 
sidered as  the  cause  of  the  whole  order  in  the  next  succeeding 
moment.  This  is  the  basis  of  all  scientific  thought.  It  rests 
upon  the  assumption  of  the  unity  of  the  world. 

We  reason  upon  this  basis  in  most  relations.  The  theory  of 
natural  selection  has  been  criticised  on  the  ground  that  it  depends 
upon  a  mass  of  suppositions  and  unproved  hypotheses.  But 
there  are  cases  where  a  supposition  is  as  good  as  a  reality.  Sup- 
pose, for  instance,  that  a  prisoner  is  confined  in  a  cell,  securely 
locked  and  guarded,  so  that  it  seems  impossible  for  him  to  escape. 
But  one  morning  the  cell  is  found  empty,  the  prisoner  has  gone. 
There  is  a  little  window  very  high  up  in  the  wall.  It  would  be 
very  difficult,  hardly  possible,  for  him  to  escape  by  it,  but  not 
absolutely  impossible.     We  are  sure  that  the  lock  has  not  been 


138  NATURAL   SELECTION 

tampered  with,  and  that  no  other  way  of  escape  could  have  been 
found.  We  assume,  therefore,  that  the  prisoner  must  have  es- 
caped by  the  window.  But  a  different  theory  is  urged.  It  is 
said  that  an  angel  has  let  him  go,  or  that  the  prisoner  has  used 
some  charm  to  free  himself.  We  are  told  that  we  cannot  show 
that  the  prisoner  had  the  cord  necessary  to  lower  himself  from  the 
window,  that  we  cannot  prove  a  single  step  in  the  process  of  his 
escape.  We  answer  that  we  do  not  need  to  prove  it.  So  long- 
as  there  is  the  possibility  of  escape  by  natural  process,  we  accept 
it  rather  than  any  theory  of  non-natural  methods. 

This  is  precisely  the  kind  of  argument  which  is  urged  by  the 
believer  in  natural  selection  or  in  evolution  in  general.  He  is 
shown  some  bit  of  organism  which  it  is  difficult  to  think  could 
have  been  produced  in  a  manner  consistent  with  his  theory,  but 
he  offers  one  supposition  after  another  to  prove  that  it  is  not  im- 
possible that  the  organism  should  have  been  formed  in  the  manner 
which  he  has  indicated.  The  answer  usually  made  to  his  argu- 
ment is  that  it  is  all  based  upon  assumption.  But  the  scientist 
needs  no  basis  of  fact.  So  long  as  he  can  show  the  possibility 
that  the  result  may  have  been  reached  through  natural  processes, 
the  burden  of  proof  lies  wholly  on  the  other  side.  If  his  opponent 
holds  that  the  line  of  causation  has  been  broken,  it  is  not  for  the 
scientist  to  prove  that  it  was  not  broken,  but  for  the  opponent  to 
prove  that  it  was  broken. 

Spencer  enters  fully1  into  the  more  detailed  arguments  which 
rest  upon  this  first  great  assumption.  Of  these  the  first  is  based 
upon  the  nature  of  the  differences  and  the  similarities  between  the 
various  genera  or  species  of  animals  or  organisms  of  any  kind. 
The  differences  are  found  to  be  superficial,  whereas  the  resem- 
blances are  profound.  It  is  with  these  organisms  as  with  lan- 
guages that  are  descended  from  a  common  parent.  In  tracing 
the  development  of  the  languages,  we  find  on  the  one  hand  a  vast 
number  of  superficial  differences,  but  on  the  other  hand  laws  of 
etymology,  grammatical  principles,  and  even  roots,  that  are  either 
identical  or  similar,  and  because  we  find  precisely  this  sort  of 

i  The  Principles  of  Biology,  Part  III,  Chap.  IV. 


NATURAL   SELECTION  139 

similarity  and  this  sort  of  difference  we  classify  the  languages  as 
belonging  to  a  single  stock.  Of  course  this  argument  is  not  con- 
clusive. Agassiz  and  others  have  argued  that  the  similarity  which 
appears  is  ideal,  the  outcome  of  the  one  great  idea  in  the  mind  of 
the  Creator.  The  similarity  is  made  to  rest  upon  supernatural 
rather  than  natural  causes.  I  do  not  know  that  there  is  any  way 
by  which  we  can  decide  between  these  two  lines  of  argument, 
taken  by  themselves.  According  to  either  hypothesis  the  ex- 
planation is  perfect.  Our  decision  must  depend  upon  our  gen- 
eral view  of  the  world  and  upon  such  other  arguments  as  may 
be  brought  forward  in  support  of  either  view.  There  is  this  to  be 
said  in  favor  of  the  ideal  hypothesis,  that  the  element  of  similar- 
ity appears  in  cases  where  there  is  no  possibility  of  a  descent. 
Crystals,  for  instance,  have  a  similarity  in  relation  to  one  another 
like  that  of  organic  products,  but  no  one  assumes  that  one  crystal 
was  produced  by  another  crystal  or  that  the  crystals  of  today  are 
the  result  of  crystals  in  the  past. 

However,  the  arguments  become  more  conclusive  as  they 
become  more  concrete.  The  second  of  the  more  specific  argu- 
ments is  based  upon  the  distribution  of  organic  life  in  relation  to 
space  and  time.  If  we  accept  the  ideal  theory  of  creation,  we 
should  naturally  expect  to  find  the  similarity  of  organisms  greater 
under  similarity  of  conditions.  But  instead  of  this  what  we 
actually  find  is  that  where  there  is  access  from  one  region  to  an- 
other the  similarity  is  greater,  although  climatic  and  other  con- 
ditions differ,  than  in  regions  where  the  conditions  are  alike  but 
where  access  to  and  fro  is  not  possible.  This  is  just  what  we 
should  look  for  on  the  theory  that  the  organisms  are  descended 
from  a  common  source. 

The  third  argument  is  based  on  the  existence  of  certain  rudi- 
mentary organs,  which  in  some  organisms  have  never  been  devel- 
oped and  are  not  used,  but  which  in  other  members  of  the  same 
group  of  organisms  are  found  developed  into  real  organs  and  in 
use.  Thus  the  motor  muscles  of  the  ear  are  in  man  wholly  use- 
less; some  have  power  to  move  these  muscles,  but  it  is  a  useless 
power. 


140  NATURAL    SELECTION 

The  last  and  most  important  of  the  specific  arguments  is  the 
argument  from  embryology.  It  is  based  upon  the  assumption 
that  the  more  highly  developed  organisms  pass  through  stages  of 
development  similar  to  those  of  lower  organisms  belonging  to 
the  same  general  type,  so  that  the  history  of  the  development  of 
organic  life  in  general  repeats  itself  with  the  birth  of  each  in- 
dividual. 

These  arguments  seem  very  plausible.  But  when  we  come  to 
look  at  the  world  as  a  whole,  the  differences  are  so  vast  between 
the  end  and  the  beginning,  between  one  kind  of  organism  and  an- 
other, that  it  is  difficult  to  admit  the  existence  of  the  relations 
which  are  assumed.  Man  feels  so  strongly  his  own  supremacy 
that  he  shrinks  from  any  attempt  to  identify  his  history  with  that 
of  any  lower  form  of  organism.  The  attempt  to  bridge  the  gap 
is  made  in  the  theory  of  natural  selection,  which  Spencer  has 
happily  termed  "  the  survival  of  the  fittest,"  but  which  because  of 
its  author  is  commonly  known  as  "Darwinism."1  The  three 
principles  upon  which  Darwin  bases  his  theory  are  heredity,  the 
tendency  to  change,  and  the  struggle  for  existence  with  the  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest.  The  doctrine  of  heredity  is  that  the  offspring 
tends  to  resemble  the  parent  precisely.  We  find  this  indicated 
everywhere.  But  as  we  look  more  closely  we  see  that  heredity 
in  itself  also  involves  some  tendency  to  variation.  For  the  in- 
dividual is  descended  not  from  a  single  parent  but  from  two,  and 
these  again  from  innumerable  others.  If  there  is  any  difference 
between  the  parents,  the  offspring  cannot  resemble  them  both 
but  must  naturally  be  different  from  either.  Besides  this  inherent 
cause  of  variation,  we  can  readily  understand  that  changes  of  en- 
vironment may  tend  to  produce  other  differences.  Thus  we  have 
to  recognize  not  only  the  tendency  to  similarity  but  the  tendency 
to  variation.  But  if  there  is  any  variation,  it  is  natural  that  one 
form  should  be  more  specifically  adapted  to  the  environment 
than  another;  if,  for  instance,  there  is  any  change  in  color,  it 
is  probable  that  one  shade  will  be  better  fitted  for  the  protection 

i  Darwin,  On  the  Origin  of  Species,  Chap.  III.     Spencer,  The  Principles  of 
Biology,  Part  III,  Chap.  XII. 


NATURAL    SELECTION  141 

of  the  individual  than  another.     We  have  to  recognize  the  struggle 
for  existence. 

Suppose  that  a  ship  is  wrecked  and  that  the  only  means  of 
safety  is  a  small  raft  which  can  carry  perhaps  a  dozen  men  instead 
of  the  hundred  or  more  on  board  the  ship.     Leave  out  all  thought 
of   sympathy   or   self-sacrifice,   and    imagine   the   struggle   which 
must  take  place  in  the  attempt  to  gain  a  place  upon  the  raft. 
Other  things  being  equal,  it  is  the  strongest  who  will  succeed. 
But  the  men  who  gain  the  raft  will  be  exposed  to  hunger  and 
thirst,  to  heat  or  cold,  and  one  after  another  they  will  die.     Only 
those  who  have  the  greatest  power  of  endurance  will   survive. 
Such  a  raft  is  this  earth.     Until  we  are  told  in  figures  we  can  have 
no  idea  of  the  terrible  nature  of  the  conflict.     Thus  Wallace  finds 
that  in  ten  years  a  single  pair  of  birds  would  naturally  produce 
more  than  twenty  million  descendants.     Yet  at  the  end  of  fifteen 
years  in  any  given  locality  you  would  probably  find  these  birds 
no   more   numerous   than   at   the    beginning.1     Furthermore,   the 
process  of  destruction  which  we  observe  in  one  generation  has 
been  repeated  through  every  generation,  so  that  we  can  have  no 
conception  of  the  numbers  which  have  perished.     It  is  said  that 
if  all  the  germs  of  life  survived,  in  a  very  few  years  our  rivers 
would  be  solid  with  fish,  the  heavens  black  with  birds,  the  air 
thick  with  insects,  and  the  ground  so  covered  that  we  could  not 
move.     Vegetable  life  probably  increases  even  more  rapidly  than 
animal  life.     Yet  the  various  organisms  appear  to  continue,  under 
conditions  practically  unchanged,  numerically  the  same;    the  va- 
riations are  insignificant.     Darwin  tells  us  that  in  a  single  winter 
four-fifths  of  the  birds  on  a  small  tract  of  land  belonging  to  him 
perished,  and  only  the  hardiest  survived.     The  incident  is  given 
to  illustrate  the  fact  that  if  any  of  these  individuals  had  an  advan- 
tage over  the  rest  their  chances  of  safety  would  be  greatly  increased. 
There  may  be  a  tendency  to  exaggerate  this  dependence  upon 
fitness.     For  we  may  suppose  that  no  variation  has  taken  place 
and  that  all  the  animals  of  a  given  type  are  equally  well  fitted  for 
the  struggle.     The  result,  probably,  would  still  be  about  the  same. 

1  Darwinism,  Chap.  II. 


142  NATURAL    SELECTION 

The  persons  struggling  to  reach  the  raft  may  have  equal  strength, 
but  only  the  dozen  can  be  saved — the  raft  can  hold  no  more. 
We  have  to  recognize  the  part  which  chance  plays  in  all  this,  the 
circumstances  which  are  wholly  independent  of  the  adaptation 
of  the  individual  to  the  environment.  Still,  we  have  also  to  rec- 
ognize that  in  fact  all  are  not  equally  adapted  to  their  surround- 
ings. The  dice  are  some  of  them  loaded,  and  the  slightest  ad- 
vantage may  produce  great  effects.  Thus  any  individuals  that 
survived  because  in  some  fearful  winter  their  constitutions  had 
proved  hardier  than  those  of  the  other  individuals  of  their  class, 
would  no  doubt  propagate  their  powers  of  endurance  in  their 
descendants,  and  the  new  generation  would  be  hardier  than  the 
generation  which  had  preceded  it.  This  principle  would  extend 
to  every  aspect  of  the  life  of  the  organism.  It  would  extend  to 
its  color  and  form  and  strength ;  to  its  means  of  defence,  the  hard- 
ness of  its  skin,  the  strength  of  its  shell.  It  would  extend  to  its 
active  organs,  the  keenness  of  sight,  the  strength  and  adaptation  of 
the  wing.  It  is  assumed  that  in  the  course  of  innumerable  genera- 
tions the  whole  organic  world  has  undergone  in  this  way  a  com- 
plete metamorphosis. 

Darwinism  recognizes  no  tendency  to  advance.  The  term 
"  fittest"  means  only  fittest  for  the  environment,  not  the  absolutely 
fittest.  In  the  tropics  natural  selection  builds  up  luxurious 
growths,  at  the  poles  it  favors  only  the  reduced  manifestations 
of  life.  The  higher  forms  of  whatever  type  are  due  to  favoring 
conditions  in  the  world.  Change  these  conditions  and  there  is 
a  retrograde  movement.  According  to  Darwinism  the  great  ad- 
vance seen  in  the  history  of  the  organic  world  is  merely  an  advance 
along  the  line  of  least  resistance.  Natural  selection,  therefore, 
is  unmoral,  unspiritual.  Spiritually  considered,  Socrates  was 
the  fittest  to  live  of  all  in  his  time,  but  he  was  not  the  fittest  for 
his  environment. 

The  origin  of  species  is  due  to  the  principle  of  variation,  the 
tendency  to  change,  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  What  surprises 
us  is  the  sharpness  of  the  lines  of  demarcation.  But  this,  we  are 
told,  is  accounted  for  by  the  intensity  of  tbe  struggle.     A  purely 


THE    A    POSTERIORI    ARGUMENT  143 

natural  cause  works  as  accurately  as  any  intelligent  purpose.  We 
find  this  illustrated  in  something  which  is  seen  at  times  in  a  wholly 
different  sphere.  In  building  bridges  the  upper  ends  of  the  piers 
are  usually  made  pointed  so  as  to  offer  the  least  possible  resistance 
to  the  stream.  Sometimes  there  is  a  bank  of  sand  at  the  foot  of 
the  pier,  and  this  sand-bank  assumes  precisely  the  same  shape 
in  relation  to  the  current  as  that  which  has  been  given  to  the  pier. 
The  result  of  the  mechanical  working  of  the  natural  force  is  as 
definite  as  the  product  of  human  intelligence  and  skill. 

So  long  as  the  environment  remains  the  same,  natural  selection 
tends  to  keep  the  forms  of  life  the  same.  It  is  therefore  pri- 
marily a  law  of  conservation.  When  the  environment  changes, 
however,  the  change  in  the  forms  of  life  which  would  have  been 
disadvantageous  while  the  environment  remained  the  same, 
becomes  desirable,  and  that  which  was  a  law  of  conservation 
becomes  a  principle  of  change.  If  it  is  asked  why  the  process  of 
change  does  not  continue  indefinitely,  the  answer  may  be  made 
that  life  reaches  a  balance  in  which,  although  the  conditions  are 
imperfect,  the  pressure  is  not  great  enough  to  bring  about  a  change 
Suppose  there  are  only  five  men  to  be  carried  on  the  raft.  Since 
it  will  hold  all  five,  the  weakest  is  not  at  a  disadvantage. 

When  we  consider  through  what  changes  the  world  has  passed 
since  organic  life  began,  and  see  how  vast  the  field  has  been  for 
all  sorts  of  variation  and  their  results,  we  realize  how  slow  the 
process  must  have  been,  and  we  can  understand  better  the  nature 
of  the  controversy  between  those  who  would  define  the  time  at 
which  the  existing  world  must  have  begun  and  those  who  demand 
a  limitless  period. 

We  come  now  to  the  last  of  the  four  questions  in  regard  to  cre- 
ation which  may  be  asked  of  science.  Is  there  an  ideal  element 
manifest  in  the  history  of  the  world  ?  Is  the  principle  of  natural 
selection  enough  to  account  for  what  we  find,  or  must  we  recognize 
some  teleological  principle?  The  answer  involves  the  second 
argument  for  religious  faith,  the  a  posteriori  argument.  This 
argument  has  been  presented  in  various  ways,  but  as  a  rule  it  has 
consisted  in  calling  attention  to  the  marks  of  contrivance  in  the 


144  THE    A    POSTERIORI    ARGUMENT 

world  by  which  the  organic  life  and  the  environment  have  been 
fitted  to  each  other.  Paley  uses  at  the  beginning  of  his  work1  the 
illustration  which  has  become  classic.  A  savage  finds  a  watch 
and  reasons  upon  it.  He  sees  that  it  is  different  from  the  objects 
of  nature  around  him,  that  it  shows  marks  of  design  and  is  in- 
tended for  an  end,  and  that  therefore  it  must  have  had  a  maker. 
Paley  argues  that  the  world  is  to  us  what  the  watch  is  to  the  savage. 
We  see  in  it  the  marks  of  design  and  conclude  that  it  has  a  maker. 
But  Paley's  illustration  is  not  a  good  one.  He  assumes  too  arbi- 
trarily that  the  savage  would  recognize  mind  in  the  watch.  The 
savage  would  be  quite  as  likely  to  think  the  watch  a  living  thing, 
some  very  curious  sort  of  little  animal  whose  heart  he  could  see 
beating.  There  is  a  story  told  of  a  traveller  who  left  his  cart 
standing  for  some  time  and  the  savages  came  imploring  him  to 
feed  it.  The  tendency  of  the  savage  is  to  ascribe  life  to  all  things. 
Furthermore,  the  fact  that  the  watch  was  complicated  would  not 
suggest  to  the  savage  that  it  was  the  work  of  design,  for  he  sees 
other  things  in  the  world  about  him  which  are  equally  complicated. 
Finally,  if  he  sees  in  the  watch  anything  which  leads  him  to  con- 
clude that  it  is  the  work  of  man,  it  will  be  simply  its  resemblance 
to  man's  work  rather  than  to  the  work  of  nature.  If  he  had  seen 
any  works  of  nature  which  were  like  the  watch  he  would  not  have 
discriminated  between  it  and  them.  Diman2  urges  that  the  argu- 
ment from  design  is  not  dependent  upon  analogy;  we  see  design. 
But  analogy  does  enter,  even  although  it  may  be  of  the  slenderest 
kind.  For  it  is  because  we  see  in  nature  marks  which  remind  us  of 
things  which  man  has  designed  that  we  attribute  design  in  nature. 
It  is  this  form  of  the  argument  from  design  which  has  had  to 
bear  most  of  the  critical  attacks  made  by  the  supporters  of  the 
theory  of  natural  selection.  Therefore  the  attempt  has  been 
made  to  find  other  grounds  on  which  to  rest  the  argument.  There 
are  two  of  these  arguments,  complementary  to  each  other.  The 
first  is  that  of  Clerk  Maxwell  and  Sir  John  Herschel.3     This 

1  Natural  Theology. 

2  J.  Lewis  Diman,  The  Theistic  Argument,  Lecture  V. 

3  W.  K.  Clifford,  Lectures  and  Essays,  "The  First  and  the  Last  Catastrophe." 


THE    A    POSTERIORI    ARGUMENT  145 

theory  is  based  upon  the  uniformity  in  size  of  the  atoms.  In 
Herschel's  phrase,  the  atoms  "  bear  the  stamp  of  the  manufactured 
article."  Clifford,  however,  doubts  this  uniformity  in  size  of  the 
atoms,  and  maintains  that  it  cannot  be  proved.  It  can  be  shown 
that  no  atom  is  above  a  certain  size,  but  this  does  not  prove  that 
none  is  smaller.  You  have  a  sieve,  and  as  you  sift  your  meal 
it  all  goes  through;  does  it  follow  that  the  grains  of  meal  are  all  of 
the  same  size?  But  suppose  that  the  atoms  are  all  of  the  same 
size  ?  What  then  ?  Why  should  they  not  be,  even  if  they  are  en- 
tirely the  product  of  natural  causes  ?  Seeing  that  the  conditions 
are  the  same  for  all,  one  would  expect  uniformity  in  them.  It  is 
difference  rather  than  uniformity  which  would  require  explanation. 
The  same  question  is  to  be  asked  in  reply  to  the  second  of  these 
arguments,  the  theory  proposed  by  Baden  Powell.1  According 
to  this  more  grandiose  argument,  the  uniformity  of  law  in  the 
natural  world  is  held  to  imply  the  existence  of  a  supreme,  creative 
mind.  But  just  as  there  is  no  reason  why  the  atoms  should  not 
be  of  the  same  size,  so  there  is  no  reason  why  the  law  should  not 
be  uniform.  Mere  uniformity  and  correlation  do  not  take  us 
beyond  the  mechanical  view  of  the  universe.  Nature  is  as  likely 
to  be  regular  as  not. 

The  best  presentation  of  the  a  posteriori  argument,  in  a  general 
way,  is  that  which  is  given  by  Romanes  as  "  Physicus"  in  A  Candid 
Examination  of  Theism.  He  writes  from  a  non-theistic  point  of 
view,  but  no  theist  could  state  the  argument  more  clearly  and 
strongly.  In  the  sixth  chapter  the  theist  is  represented  as  urging 
that  the  order  and  beauty  of  the  world  are  inconceivable  except 
as  the  work  of  an  infinite  intelligence.  But  the  reply  is  made  that 
infinite  intelligence  is  inconceivable;  the  only  processes  of  thought 
of  which  we  have  any  knowledge  are  those  which  we  find  in  our 
own  minds  which  work  through  successive  stages  of  consciousness; 
such  a  succession  is  inconceivable  as  associated  with  Absolute 
Being.  Here,  then,  are  two  inconceivabilities,  on  the  one  hand  the 
inconceivability  of  the  harmony  of  the  universe  without  a  guiding 
mind,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  inconceivability  of  infinite  in- 

1  The  Order  of  Nature,  Essay  II. 


146  THE    A    POSTERIORI    ARGUMENT 

telligence.  Of  these  two  inconceivabilities  the  first  is  relative, 
the  second  absolute;  the  first  makes  too  great  a  demand  upon 
our  thought,  the  second  contradicts  our  thought.  Therefore 
the  first  must  give  way  before  the  second,  the  difficulty  in  conception 
must  yield  to  the  contradiction  in  terms.  The  atheist  appears 
to  have  the  better  of  the  argument.  But  as  we  have  already  seen,1 
Jevons  points  out  that  this  action  of  the  mind  in  successive  stages 
is  not  essential  to  the  conception  of  thought  but  only  an  accident 
of  human  thought  due  to  its  finiteness;  the  greater  human  intelli- 
gences are  able  to  grasp  many  things  at  once,  and  the  ideal  intelli- 
gence would  be  wholly  free  from  those  limitations  which  Physicus 
considers  the  quale  of  thought.  Not  only  is  the  idea  of  infinite 
intelligence  or  infinite  spirit  not  a  contradiction  in  terms,  but  the 
idea  of  spirit  is  necessary  to  the  idea  of  infinite  being.  The  second 
or  atheistic  argument,  therefore,  loses  its  basis,  and  the  argument 
of  the  theist  remains  in  its  full  force. 

i  Page  37. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  A  POSTERIORI  ARGUMENT  CONTINUED. — THE  NEED  OF  THE 
TELEOLOGICAL  PRINCIPLE  TO  ACCOUNT  FOR  THE  RESULTS  OF 
ATOMIC  ORGANIZATION. — THE  TELEOLOGICAL  PRINCIPLE  AND 
CHANCE. — THE  TELEOLOGICAL  PRINCIPLE  AS  INVOLVING 
NATURAL  SELECTION. —  DIFFICULTIES.  —  ARE  THERE  ANT 
RESULTS  THAT  CANNOT  BE  PRODUCED  BY  ATOMIC  ORGANIZA- 
TION ? — LIFE — MIND  WITH  ITS  POWERS. — THE  UNITY  OF  CON- 
SCIOUSNESS. 

The  a  posteriori  argument  is  commonly  known  as  the  argument 
from  design.  The  word  "teleology,"  however,  is  more  funda- 
mental and  better  suited  to  our  purpose  than  the  word  "design." 
For  two  elements  are  involved  in  design,  a  teleological  element 
and  a  conscious  purpose.  We  find  teleology  both  in  the  growth 
of  the  plant  and  in  the  activities  of  man,  but  whereas  in  the  one 
case  there  is  simply  teleology,  in  the  other  teleology  is  accom- 
panied by  intelligence.  The  use  of  the  word  "  design,"  therefore, 
tends  to  emphasize  too  strongly  the  personal  and  transcendent 
aspect  of  the  Absolute.  Furthermore,  before  we  can  prove  design 
we  must  first  prove  teleology. 

We  ask,  then,  first,  whether  any  principle  of  teleology  is  needed 
to  account  for  the  results  which  are  produced  in  the  world  by  the 
organization  and  arrangement  of  the  atoms,  and  secondly,  whether 
there  are  any  results  which  no  arrangement  of  atoms  will  account 
for.  Many  theologians  today  regard  the  teleological  argument 
as  obsolete,  and  take  refuge  in  the  instincts  of  the  soul.  The 
teleological  argument  dwells  largely  upon  instances  of  correlation 
in  nature,  and  it  is  now  admitted  that  these  may  be  explained  on 
the  basis  of  natural  selection.  But  in  turning  from  external 
testimony  to  the  witness  of  the  soul,  the  theologians  forget  that 


148  TELEOLOGY    AND    CHANCE 

what  applies  to  the  one  may  be  made  to  apply  to  the  other,  and 
that  it  may  be  held  that  the  instincts  of  the  soul  are  also  to  be 
explained  by  the  laws  of  natural  selection.  At  the  same  time, 
in  the  face  of  all  these  results,  now  as  ever  there  is  the  choice  be- 
tween chance  and  teleology. 

We  use  the  word  "chance"  under  strong  protest  from  certain 
scientists.  Of  course  every  one  recognizes  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  chance  in  the  sense  that  anything  can  be  produced  with- 
out a  definite  cause.  But  there  is  a  very  important  use  of  the 
word  which  cannot  be  avoided,  and  in  which  it  presents  a  truth  as 
absolute  as  that  which  affirms  that  all  things  are  the  result  of  law. 
Chance  is  the  intersection  of  two  or  more  lines  of  causation  each  of 
which  was  working  independently.  For  instance  I  go  to  Boston 
on  my  errand,  and  you  on  yours,  and  we  happen  to  meet  at  the 
same  shop.  It  was  not  a  chance  that  you  went  or  that  I  went, 
but  it  was  a  chance  that  we  met,  for  the  meeting  had  no  place  in 
the  plan  which  either  of  us  had  made.  Again,  it  is  not  chance  that 
a  locomotive  throws  out  sparks,  or  that  the  sun  has  dried  the 
forest;  but  the  two  lines  of  causation  are  independent  of  each 
other,  and  it  is  chance  when  they  cross,  and  the  sparks  from 
the  locomotive  set  the  forest  on  fire.  Now,  if  in  throwing  dice 
we  turn  up  the  same  numbers  repeatedly,  we  infer  that  the  dice 
are  loaded.  When  the  intersections  of  independent  lines  of  cau- 
sation occur  more  than  occasionally,  then  we  feel  that  some- 
thing more  than  chance  is  present,  and  in  proportion  as  chance  is 
eliminated,  teleology  becomes  applicable.  It  is  in  this  sense  that 
we  have  to  choose  between  chance  and  teleology. 

The  objection  has  been  raised  that  there  can  be  no  place  for 
teleology  unless  we  know  what  was  aimed  at.  But  this  is  to  mis- 
conceive the  teleological  argument  in  its  larger  aspect.  It  is  true 
that  it  does  not  follow,  just  because  a  man  has  hit  a  target,  that  he 
intended  to  hit  it.  Yet  it  is  also  true  that  if  without  knowing  that 
the  man  was  firing  at  the  target  we  should  see  him  hit  the  bull's- 
eye  time  and  time  again  we  should  infer  an  intention  on  his  part. 
According  to  the  admirable  statement  of  Romanes,  the  harmony 
which  is  found  to  exist  among  all  the  various  forces  of  the  uni- 


TELEOLOGY   AND    CHANCE  149 

verse  in  their  complexity  cannot  be  the  result  of  chance.  The 
universe  must  have  been  so  constituted  as  to  produce  these 
definite,  harmonious  results.  Either  it  has  been  a  cosmos  from 
the  beginning,  or  it  has  been  so  guided  as  to  take  form  in  this 
cosmos.  From  the  first,  order  has  existed.  Those  who  support 
the  theory  of  natural  selection  say  that  these  results  have  been 
produced  through  the  play  of  external  forces  acting  upon  organic 
life.  But  according  to  teleology  the  tendency  to  produce  just 
these  results  existed  from  the  beginning,  and  the  external  forces 
have  been  only  the  complementary  elements  in  the  process. 

To  repeat,  however,  the  two  questions  which  we  have  asked, 
first,  is  any  principle  of  teleology  needed  to  account  for  the  arrange- 
ment of  atoms  by  which  the  construction  of  the  universe  is  ex- 
plained ?  Secondly,  do  we  find  any  results  which  cannot  be 
conceived  as  accomplished  by  any  arrangement  of  atoms  ?  In 
answering  the  first  of  these  questions  we  have  to  consider  on  the 
one  hand  the  original  constitution  of  the  atoms  and  their  relation 
to  one  another,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  process  by  which  they 
have  been  combined  in  the  construction  of  the  world.  The  first 
step  in  this  examination  involves  the  question  of  evolution.  The 
term  is  used  in  two  senses  which  are  often  confused.  Strictly 
speaking,  evolution  implies  involution,  that  is,  that  the  germ  of 
the  result,  the  tendency  toward  it,  existed  already  at  the  beginning 
of  the  process.  In  the  other  more  popular  and  superficial  use  of 
the  term,  it  is  synonymous  with  any  process  of  changes  by  which 
a  certain  result  is  brought  about,  no  matter  how.  Tyndall,  in 
a  famous  passage  in  which  he  is  speaking  of  the  highest  results  of 
the  development  of  life  in  the  history  of  the  universe,  says  that 
these  "  were  once  latent  in  a  fiery  cloud." 2  Here  the  term  "  latent " 
corresponds  to  the  idea  of  evolution  in  the  true  sense;  that  which 
was  before  latent  may  be  said  legitimately  to  be  evolved.  Com- 
pare the  growth  of  a  natural  flower  and  the  process  by  which  a 
wax  flower  is  manufactured.  The  growth  of  a  flower  from  its 
seed  is  a  process  of  evolution,  the  flower  was  latent  in  its  germ; 

1  A  Candid  Examination  of  Theism,  Chap.  VI. 

2  Fragments  of  Science,  VII,  "On  the  Scientific  Use  of  the  Imagination." 


150  TELEOLOGY   AND    CHANCE 

but  in  no  proper  sense  can  the  wax  flower  be  considered  latent  in 
the  material  from  which  it  is  made,  and  to  call  the  process  of  its 
manufacture  an  evolution  is  to  misuse  the  term.  When  Michael 
Angelo  says  that 

"The  stone  unhewn  and  cold 
Becomes  a  living  mould," 

the  phrase  can  be  justified  only  in  a  highly  figurative  sense.  The 
marble  is  quite  incapable  of  evolving  the  statue  as  the  plant 
evolves   its  flower. 

Tyndall  speaks  of  matter  as  containing  the  promise  and  potency 
of  all  great  results.  But  how  are  we  to  conceive  of  matter  as  con- 
taining this  promise  and  potency?  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
matter,  that  is,  in  the  same  sense  in  which  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  air  or  water.  Air  and  water  consist  of  collections  of  particles 
which  are  so  closely  similar  to  one  another  that  they  are  indis- 
tinguishable. When  these  are  united  in  a  mass  they  produce 
upon  our  minds  the  effect  of  uniformity,  and  we  call  the  collec- 
tions air  or  water  as  though  we  were  speaking  of  distinct  things 
existing  each  as  a  whole.  It  is  very  much  the  same  with  matter, 
if  we  accept  the  dictum  of  the  scientists.  It  is  a  collection  of  atoms, 
infinitesimal  in  size,  and,  if  not  infinite  in  number,  at  least  incon- 
ceivably numerous.  To  bring  about  the  results  which  we  rec- 
ognize in  the  world  there  must  have  been  co-operation  among 
these  atoms.  Now  in  so  far  as  physicists  maintain  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  natural  selection  sufficiently  accounts  for  this  co-opera- 
tion, and  that  the  universe  results  from  the  working  of  external 
laws,  the  proper  term  by  which  to  describe  the  process  is  rather 
"aggregation"  or  "agglutination"  than  "evolution."  I  cannot 
but  think  that  the  use  of  the  term  "evolution"  in  a  sense  different 
from  that  which  rightly  belongs  to  it  has  done  much  to  make  the 
materialistic  theories  of  the  universe  popular  and  acceptable,  and 
that  if  a  legitimate  term  like  "aggregation"  had  been  used,  the 
theories  would  have  found  less  acceptance.  Evolution  implies 
involution,  for  only  that  can  be  evolved  which  was  first  involved. 
Therefore  evolution  implies  teleology. 

Suppose  we  begin  with  the   individual  atoms.     According  to 


TELEOLOGY   AND    CHANCE  151 

any  merely  atomic  theory  they  are  as  unconnected,  except  by  out- 
ward power  of  attraction,  as  though  they  were  in  different  worlds. 
That  is,  each  is  wholly  distinct  from  the  rest  and  there  is  no  con- 
tact whatever  between  them.  To  reach  the  results  which  we  find 
in  the  universe,  these  myriads  of  atoms,  distinct  and  separate, 
have  to  co-operate.  Suppose,  now,  that  we  know  of  no  guiding 
principle  at  work  in  the  development  of  the  world.  We  shall 
have  to  recognize  a  special  adaptation  of  the  atoms  to  this  co- 
operation. If  as  they  are  shaken  together  they  fit  themselves 
into  the  forms  of  mutual  relation  in  which  we  find  them,  they  must 
have  been  adapted  for  this  purpose.  This  appears  the  more 
plainly  when  we  consider  that  this  world  is  not  one  of  many  possi- 
ble worlds.  The  forces  which  govern  the  atoms  act  with  absolute 
invariableness,  and  just  as  under  certain  conditions  the  solution 
of  some  salt  can  produce  only  this  or  that  particular  crystal,  so 
out  of  these  atoms  only  this  precise  world  which  we  see  could  have 
been  produced.  Here,  then,  is  a  dilemma  of  which  one  horn  or 
the  other  must  be  chosen.  A  principle  of  teleology  must  be  in- 
volved either  in  the  very  existence  of  the  atoms  or  else  in  their 
subsequent  arrangement.  It  is  with  the  world  as  with  a  child's 
blocks.  The  blocks  may  be  of  uniform  size  and  shape,  depend- 
ing upon  the  thought  and  skill  of  the  child  to  combine  them  in 
various  structures,  or  they  may  be  of  different  forms,  as  in  a  dis- 
sected map,  so  planned  from  the  first  that  they  can  be  fitted  to- 
gether to  produce  one  combination  and  only  one.  One  or  the 
other  of  these  two  forms  of  teleology  must  be  recognized. 

It  may  be  said  that  if  the  atoms  were  shaken  together  they  must 
have  united  in  some  form,  and  why  not  the  form  which  we  see 
as  well  as  any  other.  This  form  of  reasoning  applies  where  there 
is  a  series  one  member  of  which  must  be  taken,  as  for  instance 
in  a  lottery,  where  some  one  must  win  the  prize.  It  applies  also 
in  the  case  of  geometrical  forms;  however  intricate  they  are,  it 
may  be  said  of  them  that  some  forms  must  in  any  case  result,  and 
therefore  these  could  be  the  outcome  as  well  as  any  others.  But 
the  case  is  different  here.  Furthermore,  Spencer's  theorv  of 
differentiation  and  integration  does  not  help  us.     It  will  explain 


152  TELEOLOGY   AND    CHANCE 

mechanical  processes,  but  when  we  come  to  organic  processes 
it  fails  us.  For  integration  is  only  the  result  of  differentiation 
as  it  separates,  say  wheat  and  chaff.  Existing  kinds  of  things 
are  separated,  but  there  is  no  tendency  to  produce  new  relations  or 
a  cosmos. 

Of  course  chance  can  do  a  great  deal.  In  the  picture  which 
the  frost  draws  upon  the  window-pane  the  crystallization  is  not 
chance,  but  it  is  the  merest  chance  when  the  forms  resemble, 
as  they  so  often  do,  some  woodland  or  other  scene.  It  is  chance, 
again,  and  only  chance,  that  the  mountain  side  should  have  taken 
the  form  of  the  great  profile  which  we  know  as  the  Old  Man  of 
the  Mountain.  If  chance  can  do  such  things,  it  is  sometimes 
asked,  why  should  it  not  have  built  the  universe  as  we  see  it? 
We  have  to  answer  that  in  many  cases  it  is  indeed  difficult,  perhaps 
impossible,  to  draw  the  line  where  chance  is  to  give  place  to  tele- 
ology. But  when  we  consider  the  complication  of  results,  the 
extent  and  variety  of  the  mutual  adaptations  in  the  universe,  we 
feel  that  we  have  passed  beyond  the  domain  of  chance.  Up  to 
a  certain  point  we  may  accept  the  explanation  of  chance  or  of 
mechanical  adjustment,  but  when  we  reach  organic  forms  we  pass 
into  the  realm  of  adaptation,  and  then  as  we  enter  the  world  of 
mind,  and  find  subject  and  object  in  contrast  to  each  other  and 
answering  one  to  the  other,  when  we  find  the  world  fitted  to  give 
the  joy  that  it  does  to  the  spirit,  and  the  spirit  fitted  to  take  the 
joy  in  the  world  that  it  does,  then  we  feel  that  teleology  must 
have  something  to  do  with  it  all.  Either  the  atoms  must  have 
been  specially  adapted  to  come  together  in  these  relations,  or  else 
they  must  have  been  guided. 

You  will  notice  that  if  we  admit  that  there  is  a  teleological  prin- 
ciple at  the  beginning,  then  we  may  admit  all  that  is  claimed  for 
natural  selection  in  the  mechanical  carrying  out  of  this  tendency. 
I  am  not  insisting  here  upon  any  creative  power.  For  our  present 
purpose  the  universe  may  be  nothing  but  an  organism  that  involves 
a  principle  of  teleology.  To  go  back,  however,  for  a  moment  to 
our  starting-point,  it  is  an  interesting  process  of  thought  to  try 
to  conceive  what  the  relation  is  in  which  the  primeval  atoms  stand 


TELEOLOGY   AND    CHANCE  153 

to  one  another.  They  must  represent  a  unity.  Since  they  all 
co-operate  to  produce  the  results  that  we  see,  they  must  be  bound 
together  in  one  way  or  another  by  some  principle  of  unity.  Perhaps 
the  question  meets  us  quite  as  strongly  when  we  consider  some 
single,  individual  result.  Here  is  the  simplest  plant  or  animal. 
Each  organic  form  has  started  from  a  germ.  The  particles  which 
made  up  this  germ  had  an  understanding  among  themselves  by 
which  this  result  has  been  reached.  I  use  the  term  "  understand- 
ing "  in  a  figurative  sense.  Or  take  a  result  like  the  Iliad  of  Homer. 
We  start  with  atoms  wholly  separate  from  one  another,  we  shake 
them  up  indefinitely,  from  eternity  if  you  will,  and  from  among 
the  other  elements  there  drops  out  Homer's  Iliad!  Yet  the  Iliad 
is  only  part  of  a  mighty  whole  many  parts  of  which  are  of  a  like 
perfection.  Together  with  the  Iliad  we  shake  out  also  the  mind 
that  produced  the  Iliad  and  all  the  minds  that  are  to  enjoy  it. 

To  pass,  however,  to  the  construction  of  the  world,  we  have 
here  again  to  decide  between  chance  and  teleology.  We  will 
omit  for  the  time  being  all  the  processes  which  precede  the  moment 
at  which  we  enter  the  world  of  organic  life.  We  will  start  where 
Darwin  starts,  with  the  beginnings  of  life,  the  minutest  organisms 
that  possess  life.  By  certain  processes  these  have  been  developed 
into  the  higher  forms  of  life  which  we  behold.  What,  then,  is 
the  nature  of  the  change  which  takes  place  in  order  that  this  result 
may  be  reached  ?  What  has  natural  selection  to  act  upon  ?  For 
natural  selection,  as  Darwin  often  repeats,  can  originate  nothing, 
but  is  simply  a  principle  of  selection.  Its  materials  are  offered 
to  it,  and  it  selects  that  which  is  most  fitting. 

[It  has  been  thought  best  to  omit  the  discussion  of  average  and 
individual  variation,  and  the  preservation  of  variations,  into  which 
Dr.  Everett  here  enters.  He  purposely  leaves  this  discussion 
"very  general,"  considering  "any  minute  discussion  hardly  ad- 
vantageous." The  question  as  to  the  processes  of  natural  selec- 
tion is  outside  the  line  of  his  main  argument.  Whatever  the  proc- 
esses, the  choice  is  still  between  chance  and  teleology,1  and  if  any 
principle  of  teleology  is  recognized,  "then  we  must  also  recog- 
nize the  importance  of  the  principle  of  natural  selection." — Ed.] 
i  Page  148. 


154      TELEOLOGY  AND  NATURAL  SELECTION 

For  it  is  through  natural  selection  [he  proceeds]  that  teleology 
must  work.  The  principle  of  natural  selection  not  only  does 
not  exclude  teleology;  it  causes  teleology  to  stand  out  in  fresh 
beauty.  For  if  we  ask  under  what  form  we  should  expect  tele- 
ology to  manifest  itself,  we  have  to  reply  that  it  must  be  expected 
to  use  natural  laws;  final  causes  must  work  through  efficient  causes. 
There  is  another  point  of  view  from  which  the  teleological  prin- 
ciple is  regarded  as  standing  over  against  physical  relations,  strik- 
ing in  now  and  then  to  adjust  them.  It  is  not  to  our  purpose  to 
inquire  whether  such  adjustments  from  without  ever  take  place. 
All  that  I  insist  upon  is  that  the  most  profound  and  most  normal 
activity  of  the  teleological  principle  is  to  be  expected  not  as  a 
power  working  against  physical  relations  but  as  a  power  that 
works  through  physical  relations.  Therefore,  in  seeking  for  evi- 
dence of  the  teleological  principle  we  look  first  not  for  breaks  in 
the  line  of  physical  causation,  but  for  such  a  consensus  of  the 
elements  that  are  at  work  in  the  world,  such  a  concentration  of 
efficient  causes  to  reach  certain  results,  as  cannot  be  explained  by 
any  theory  of  chance  combination.  Thus  we  come  back  again 
to  the  metaphysical  argument  of  "Physicus."1 

In  this  relation  we  regard  the  universe  as  we  regard  a  plant. 
In  all  the  processes  of  the  growth  of  the  plant  we  find  physical 
influences,  efficient  causation,  everywhere  at  work.  There  is 
no  interruption  in  the  growth.  Leaf  and  flower  and  fruit  come 
forth  each  of  them  from  the  nature  of  the  plant  itself,  and 
each  is  developed  through  the  agency  of  this  external,  physi- 
cal force.  Yet  through  all  these  physical  influences  we  recog- 
nize the  working  of  a  principle  of  teleology,  the  tendency  of  the 
plant,  from  the  first  sowing  of  the  seed,  to  reach  the  result  that  is 
finally  attained. 

We  may  not  say  with  the  certainty  of  mathematical  demon- 
stration that  the  organic  world  as  we  behold  it  cannot  be  the 
result  of  chance,  but  the  probability  that  it  is  not  so  to  be  ex- 
plained is  overwhelming.  To  make  the  world  unteleological 
overburdens  the  theory  of  natural  selection.  When  we  consider 
the  complications  that  are  involved  in  the  attempt  to  explain  the 
i  Page  145. 


DIFFICULTIES  155 

order  and  harmony  of  the  universe  by  the  theory  of  chance  varia- 
tions, to  use  the  earlier  language  of  Darwin,  we  are  reminded  of 
the  fate  of  the  theory  of  cycles  and  epicycles  of  the  older  astron- 
omy. It  was  a  theory  that  explained  the  different  phenomena 
fairly  well,  but  it  broke  down  of  its  own  weight,  and  gave  place 
to  the  simple  law  of  attraction,  which  was  found  sufficient  to  ex- 
plain all  the  phenomena.  In  a  similar  manner  we  fall  back  upon 
the  principle  of  teleology.  We  admit  that  the  earthworm  is  seek- 
ing its  own  ends  as  it  toils  away  in  the  ground,1  but  at  the  same 
time  we  also  admit  that  this  is  a  part  of  the  great  process  that 
nature  is  using  in  the  onward  movement  of  its  development 
toward  the  higher  life. 

Such  recognition  as  this  of  the  principle  of  teleology  cannot 
be  called  unscientific,  for  the  tendency  is  found  to  be  a  constant. 
Take  once  more  our  illustration  from  the  growth  of  the  plant. 
In  this  growth  it  is  not  unscientific  to  recognize  the  principle  of 
teleology,  for  at  the  same  time  that  we  recognize  all  the  physical 
elements  of  the  growth,  we  know  that  through  them  all  the  plant 
is  tending  to  fulfil  its  own  type.  Just  so  the  recognition  of  the 
principle  of  teleology  in  regard  to  the  world  as  a  whole  cannot 
be  regarded  as  unscientific.  It  might  be  so  regarded  if  it  were 
hastily  assumed.  But  if  we  find  that  it  is  impossible  to  admit 
that  the  world  as  we  know  it  today  could  have  been  produced 
from  the  elements  of  fiery  mist  without  the  aid  of  teleology,  if 
we  are  actually  driven  to  accept  the  principle  of  teleology  as  we 
are  driven  to  accept  the  law  of  gravitation,  then  to  recognize 
this  principle  is  not  to  recognize  an  unscientific  or  non-scientific 
element,  but  simply  to  enlarge  the  realm  of  causes  with  which 
science  has  to  do. 

It  is  true  that  when  we  speak  of  this  teleological  principle  as 
embodied  in  the  world,  we  meet  certain  difficulties.  If  there  is 
such  a  force,  why  do  we  not  find  it  working  all  along  the  line? 
Why  are  there  so  many  examples  of  what  from  this  point  of  view 
must  be  called  arrested  development  ?  Why  do  we  find  the 
exhibition  of  life  that  is  stationary,  organisms  in  which  there  is 

1  Charles  Darwin,  The  Formation  of  Vegetable  Mould. 


156  DIFFICULTIES 

no  movement  toward  higher  forms  of  life,  and  even  races  which 
show  no  tendency  to  develop  into  higher  races  ?  It  is  too  much 
to  ask,  however,  that  we  should  explain  this.  For  if  the  universe 
is  moving  in  accordance  with  a  divine  plan,  any  complete  expla- 
nation would  involve  complete  knowledge  of  that  plan.  As  it 
is,  we  can  understand  only  by  slow  degrees.  We  must  take  the 
manifestation  of  the  plan  as  it  comes  to  us,  and  judge  of  what 
God  intends  to  do  from  what  he  has  already  done  and  is  now 
doing.  Still,  although  we  cannot  give  the  explanation  that  is 
demanded,  we  can  conceive  of  the  explanation  as  possible.  For 
what  we  observe  in  the  history  of  the  world  is  precisely  what  we 
see  in  the  history  of  the  plant  or  of  almost  any  form  of  organized 
life.  The  plant  tends  to  produce  leaves  and  flowers  and  fruit, 
and  seed  from  which  shall  spring  another  plant  similar  to  itself. 
Moreover,  leaves  and  flowers  and  fruit  are  all  variations  of  a  single 
type  of  organism,  so  that  no  reason  is  apparent  why  every  leaf- 
'bud  should  not  produce  a  flower-bud  and  every  flower  fruit. 
Yet  there  are  even  plants  like  the  century  plant  which  produce 
only  a  single  flower,  and  that  one  flower  only  rarely.  Here  is 
the  same  question  that  has  been  asked  in  regard  to  the  world. 
Why  this  arrest  of  development  ?  The  evident  answer  as  regards 
the  plant  is  that  the  fact  of  arrested  development  is  not  inconsist- 
ent with  the  teleological  tendency  in  the  plant,  but  on  the  contrary 
that  which  is  called  the  arrest  of  development  is  necessary  to  the 
growth  of  the  plant.  The  failure  of  certain  leaf-buds  to  produce 
flower-buds  and  the  failure  of  certain  flowers  to  produce  fruit, 
this  all  belongs  to  the  nature  of  the  plant.  The  fruit  that  is  finally 
developed  is  that  which  the  plant  was  intended  to  produce. 

We  may  even  take  a  step  further,  though  not  indeed  with  cer- 
tainty. Suppose  that  the  highest  development  of  life — and  if 
the  highest  development  of  life,  then  the  highest  development 
of  moral  and  spiritual  life — were  reached  at  a  single  point,  and 
that  from  this  point  the  world  adopted  it  by  conscious  acceptance. 
We  can  conceive  that  a  higher  consciousness  of  unity  might  be 
reached  in  this  way  by  a  race  of  men  than  if  the  same  results 
were  arrived  at  through  individual  striving  along  separate  lines. 


LIFE  157 

Still  further,  we  may  say  that  the  highest  result  is  not  simple  but 
concrete,  and  that  it  can  be  more  easily  comprehended  if  the  ele- 
ments of  which  it  is  composed  have  severally  their  independent, 
partial  development.  If  I  may  use  concrete  instead  of  abstract 
terms,  let  us  suppose  that  Christianity  is  the  highest  result  of 
spiritual  development.  Let  us  suppose  also  that  this  result  was 
reached  in  a  single  race;  that  at  first  it  was  gained  by  a  single 
individual,  and  that  then  it  became  the  possession  of  the  race. 
We  can  understand  how  a  unity  might  thus  have  been  attained 
that  would  not  have  resulted  in  any  other  way.  And  if  Christi- 
anity is  a  composite  unity,  we  can  see  how  other  religions  have 
their  place  in  manifesting  the  various  component  elements  sepa- 
rately, developing  them  and  bringing  them  into  recognition,  and 
at  the  same  time  illustrating  their  insufficiency  when  taken  by 
themselves. 

Of  course  you  will  not  think  that  I  am  attempting  to  do  what 
I  have  only  just  now  said  is  impossible, — to  lay  down  the  plan 
according  to  which  the  world  moves.  I  am  only  suggesting  these 
considerations  to  show  that  although  we  cannot  answer  definitely 
certain  questions  that  arise,  we  can  still  conceive  of  them  as  not 
unanswerable. 

What  has  been  said  may  be  presented  in  a  somewhat  different 
form  if  we  start  from  the  position  taken  by  Darwin.  Darwin 
assumes  two  things  as  given.  One  is  life  with  its  several  powers, 
and  the  other  is  mind  with  its  powers.1  It  may  be  said  that 
Darwin  assumes  them  only  with  reference  to  his  own  system  and 
that  he  is  not  to  be  understood  as  implying  that  science  in  general 
is  to  accept  them.  It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  Darwin  goes 
further  than  this,  for  near  the  close  of  the  Origin  of  Species  he 
speaks  of  life  as  having  been  "breathed  into"  one  or  more  forms, 
and  he  somewhere  indicates  that  Spencer  goes  a  little  too  far  in 
trying  to  explain  the  origin  of  life.2  Therefore  we  may  take  it 
for  granted  that  Darwin  did  assume  absolutely  that  the  original 
fact  of  life  was  not  to  be  explained  by  science. 

1  Origin  of  Species,  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  1873,  p.  205. 

2  Origin  of  Species,  p.  100. 


158  LIFE 

Now,  if  life  with  its  several  powers  is  to  be  assumed,  we  have  to 
ask,  what,  then,  is  life  ?  The  question  is  unanswerable.  Life 
itself  can  no  more  be  explained  than  the  law  of  gravitation.  We 
may  indeed  give  certain  characteristics  of  life  to  indicate  what 
we  mean  by  it.  Thus  we  may  say  that  life  at  least  involves  a 
tendency  to  organize ;  wherever  we  find  the  tendency  to  an  organic 
existence  we  say  that  there  is  life.  But  organic  existence  has 
organs,  and  these  organs  are  not  abstract  but  concrete.  There- 
fore if  we  recognize  in  life  the  tendency  to  produce  organs,  we 
must  look  for  the  manifestation  of  life  in  specific  quality.  Here 
is  a  vast  transition,  the  transition  from  the  mechanical  to  the  vital. 
We  no  longer  have  to  do  merely  with  geometrical  relations,  but 
with  organic  relations.  We  have  growth,  not  by  aggregation,  as 
we  found  it  everywhere  in  the  lower  forms  of  existence,  but  by 
assimilation  and  reproduction.  The  simplest  cell  differs  from 
any  merely  mechanical  arrangement  in  that  it  is  an  organic  whole, 
carrying  within  itself  the  possibility  of  development  by  putting 
forth  higher  and  higher  powers.  At  first  the  organism  may 
be,  so  to  speak,  merely  a  single  organ,  but  presently  this  single 
organ  differentiates  itself  into  new  and  higher  organs.  When  I 
say  that  the  organism  is  at  the  first  a  single  organ,  I  do  not  describe 
it  as  simple.  For  a  single  organ  is  in  itself  complex,  possessing  as 
it  does  the  elements  which  make  possible  the  preservation  of  the 
organ  through  these  processes  of  assimilation  and  reproduction. 

There  is  a  method  of  scientific  interpretation  which  assumes 
that  if  we  can  show  how  a  certain  organ  has  been  produced  by 
very  slow  degrees,  tracing  the  development  back  to  the  first  steps, 
we  have  explained  the  existence  of  the  organ.  To  attempt  to 
explain  life  in  this  way  has  always  seemed  to  me  very  much  as 
though  one  should  assume  that  if  a  ball  rolls  up  hill  by  infinitesimal 
stages  no  force  is  needed  to  explain  the  motion.  Of  course  as 
much  force  is  needed  to  roll  a  ball  up  hill  by  infinitesimal  stages 
as  at  a  bound,  and  a  principle  of  teleology  is  required  just  as  truly 
to  explain  results  when  the  development  has  been  by  slow  stages 
as  when  the  process  has  been  more  rapid.  One  is  reminded  of 
the  story  that  some  German  writer  tells  about  two  countrymen  who 


MIND    WITH    ITS    POWERS  159 

are  out  shooting  and  one  of  whom  cautions  the  other  to  pull  the 
trigger  "  gently,  gently,"  as  if  that  would  make  the  report  less  noisy. 

We  are  brought  now  to  the  point  where  we  may  consider  the 
second  of  the  two  questions  in  regard  to  teleology  which  we  asked 
at  the  outset.1  Are  there  any  results  that  cannot  be  produced  by 
aggregation  ?  We  find  the  answer  in  Darwin's  second  assumption, 
that  is,  in  mind  with  its  powers.  For  the  antithesis  between 
mind  and  matter  appears  from  the  very  beginning  in  the  lowest 
forms  of  sensitive  life.  There  is  no  transition  from  matter  to  mind, 
from  object  to  subject.  Spencer  appears  to  admit  something  of 
the  kind  when,  as  he  comes  to  the  discussion  of  mind,  he  speaks 
of  approaching  a  class  of  facts  "without  any  perceptible  or  con- 
ceivable community  of  nature  with  the  [physical]  facts  that  have 
occupied  us."  2  We  have,  then,  to  insist  that  mind  cannot  be  con- 
structed by  physical  causes,  by  any  aggregation  of  physical  ele- 
ments. Before,  the  results  that  we  were  considering  could  be 
produced  by  aggregation,  although  we  felt  the  necessity  of  assum- 
ing some  teleological  principle.  In  the  case  of  mental  phenomena, 
on  the  other  hand,  no  aggregation  will  account  for  the  results, 
whether  we  assume  the  teleological  principle  or  not.  The  aspect 
of  the  case  might  be  somewhat  different  if  we  could  conceive  of 
matter  and  mind  as  passing  one  into  the  other  by  slight  gradations. 
But  the  gulf  between  the  material  world  and  the  very  germ  of 
consciousness  is  absolute.  It  is  like  a  magnet, — a  single  grain  of 
the  magnetic  stone  will  have  its  two  poles  with  the  absolute  an- 
tithesis between  them. 

Furthermore,  so  far  as  we  know  what  are  called  physical  facts, 
they  are  mental  facts.  We  cannot  conceive  of  the  external  world 
except  as  objective,  as  standing  always  in  direct  relation  to  sub- 
jectivity. Schopenhauer  recognizes  as  a  fundamental  difficulty 
the  fact  that  external  phenomena  seem  to  be  dependent  upon  the 
mind,  while  on  the  other  hand,  when  we  consider  the  history  of 
the  external  world  as  it  is  manifested  to  us,  mind  seems  to  have 
been  developed  out  of  matter.  Matter  appears  to  have  the  pri- 
ority in  time  although  mind  has  the  logical  priority.     Mind  seems 

i  Page  147.  2  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  Part  I,  Chap.  VI. 


160  THE    UNITY    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS 

to  be  dependent  upon  matter  as  its  cause,  and  yet  matter  is  de- 
pendent upon  mind  because  we  know  it  only  in  relation  to  mind. 
This  difficulty,  however,  is  met  in  the  recognition  of  absolute 
spirit.  In  ordinary  usage  we  may  think  of  the  world  as  material 
and  as  something  that  could  exist  without  mind,  but  when  we  are 
pushed  to  the  consideration  of  these  fundamental  relations,  then 
we  must  appeal  to  the  fundamental  facts  of  our  philosophical 
thought  and  make  the  material  world  know  its  place.  We  must 
remind  ourselves  that  we  learn  the  material  world  at  second  hand, 
and  that  it  is  only  spirit  that  we  recognize  at  first  hand,  and  we 
must  say  to  that  which  is  to  us  only  some  form  of  ideal  or  mental 
manifestation,  that  it  cannot  claim  to  be  supreme.  We  may 
alter  a  little  the  setting  of  a  line  of  Emerson,  and  say  that  the  mind 
is  like  the  sky, 

"Than  all  it  holds  more  deep,  more  high."1 

One  might  as  well  insist  that  the  mirror  is  in  some  sense  caused 
by  the  reflections  that  float  across  it  as  to  say  that  the  mind  is  the 
product  of  material  forces.  The  question  may  arise  whether 
this  is  not  after  all  an  argument  ab  ignorantia,  and  whether  the 
fact  that  we  cannot  separate  the  external  from  the  internal  world 
may  not  mark  simply  the  limitation  of  our  own  powers.  We 
may  even  ask  whether  the  mirror  might  not  reflect  the  process  of 
mirror  making,  and  thus  exhibit  in  its  reflection  the  secret  of  its 
own  being.  But  if  the  argument  is  an  argument  from  ignorance, 
certainly  the  argument  on  the  other  side  is  an  argument  from  the 
absolutely  unknown. 

To  pass,  however,  to  another  proposition,  not  open  to  such 
doubt,  the  unity  of  consciousness  is  opposed  to  any  conception  of 
it  as  produced  by  matter.  The  attempt  to  reach  consciousness 
and  the  spiritual  life  from  the  material  side  is  the  attempt  to  con- 
struct the  unity  of  consciousness  out  of  a  multitude  of  separate 
atoms.  Certain  illustrations  have  been  used  in  the  attempt  to 
make  clear  the  possibility  of  such  a  process.  Thus  it  is  said  that 
consciousness  is  related  to  the  physical  organization  very  much 
as  music  is  related  to  the  instruments.  But  when  we  analyze 
1  Woodnotes. 


THE    UNITY   OF   CONSCIOUSNESS  161 

this  illustration  it  fails.  For  music  has  no  unity  except  an  ideal 
unity.  It  consists  in  a  succession  of  undulations  produced  by 
separate  movements  of  the  strings  or  of  whatever  else  may  form 
the  mechanism  of  the  instrument,  and  these  undulations  have 
unity  only  in  the  mind  that  composed  the  series  and  the  mind  that 
appreciates  the  music.  Apart  from  these  minds,  therefore,  from 
which  the  music  springs  and  to  which  the  music  appeals,  the  music 
has  no  unity,  so  that  in  the  same  sense  in  which  we  may  say  that 
there  is  no  water  and  no  air,  we  may  say  that  there  is  no  music. 
It  is  very  important  for  our  purpose  that  we  should  separate  all 
these  phenomena  into  their  component  parts,  in  order  that  we 
may  avoid  the  fallacy  of  transferring  what  is  purely  material  into 
the  spiritual  sphere  and  then  reasoning  from  it  as  though  it  still 
belonged  to  the  physical  world.  The  materialist  can  give  us  only 
discreteness.     Spirit  alone  can  give  us  unity. 

Psychological  physiology,  in  analyzing  the  brain  and  divid- 
ing it  into  various  tracts  devoted  severally  to  specific  reactions, 
appears  at  first  sight  to  furnish  an  argument  for  the  theory  of  the 
production  of  mind  from  matter.  But  as  we  look  more  closely 
we  find  that  in  reality  its  testimony  points  in  precisely  the  opposite 
direction.  For  the  more  distinctly  the  separate  tracts  are  mapped 
out,  the  further  do  we  find  the  activity  of  the  brain  removed  from 
the  unity  that  is  essential  to  consciousness. 

It  may  be  urged  against  the  unity  of  consciousness  that  men 
sometimes  have  a  divided  or  a  double  consciousness,  in  which 
they  are  conscious  of  themselves  as  two  persons  or  more.  You 
may  recall  the  story  told  of  Dr.  Johnson, — how  he  dreamed  one 
night  that  he  had  been  overcome  in  an  argument,  and  how  he 
was  much  depressed  by  the  thought  of  his  defeat.  But  he  was 
reminded  that  he  had  been  reasoning  on  both  sides,  and  there- 
fore was  still  the  conqueror!  In  such  cases  each  of  the  persons 
who  figure  in  the  dream  is  a  form  of  the  individual's  own  person- 
ality, and  the  unity  of  consciousness  is  not  broken.  The  duplicity 
is  not  recognized  as  a  division  of  consciousness,  but  consists 
merely  in  certain  phenomena  which  the  unity  of  consciousness 
puts  outside  of  itself  and  contemplates.     It  sometimes  happens  in 


162  THE    UNITY    OF   CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  first  stages  of  insanity  that  the  sufferer  experiences  a  feeling 
as  though  some  one  were  trying  to  get  possession  of  him,  and 
in  spiritualistic  seances  the  medium  appears  to  be  invaded  by  a 
foreign  power.  But  in  all  these  cases  consciousness  as  conscious- 
ness, however  it  may  differ  at  different  times,  maintains  its  unity. 
When  we  speak  of  a  double  consciousness,  we  mean  not  that  con- 
sciousness has  been  divided,  but  that  there  are  two  independent 
consciousnesses.  Each  of  these,  however,  must  be  single.  Let  as 
many  consciousnesses  coexist  as  you  please,  each  is  a  unit.  A 
person  may  be  thinking  of  one  thing  and  may  be  writing  at  the 
same  time  with  the  planchette  of  some  wholly  different  thing. 
But  of  this  other  thing  the  consciousness  of  thought  or  speech 
knows  nothing,  and  the  very  fact  that  one  consciousness  does  not 
know  what  the  other  consciousness  is  about  testifies  to  the  non- 
divisibility  of  consciousness.  A  multiplication  of  consciousnesses 
is  a  very  different  thing  from  a  divided  consciousness. 

The  line  of  reasoning  that  we  have  followed  in  regard  to  the 
unity  of  consciousness  applies  further  when  we  consider  the  theory 
of  so-called  mind-stuff.1  According  to  this  theory  there  is  no  atom 
of  matter  that  does  not  contain  some  germ  of  consciousness,  and 
no  element  of  consciousness  apart  from  matter;  each  atom  has 
its  sentient  and  its  non-sentient  aspect;  according,  then,  to  the 
manner  in  which  the  atoms  are  combined,  the  resulting  organisms 
manifest  higher  or  lower  forms  of  mental  activity.  Here  is  the 
same  difficulty  that  is  involved  in  all  attempts  to  construct  mind 
out  of  matter.  For  whatever  the  relations  in  which  these  atoms 
are  combined,  they  do  not  lose  their  separateness.  Organize  them 
as  you  will,  they  remain  a  multitude  of  different  centres  of  con- 
sciousness. It  may  be  said  that  the  relation  of  the  atoms  to 
one  another  tends  to  increase  consciousness  and  to  develop  it 
to  a  higher  degree.  But  this  is  true  only  as  it  is  true  that  in  a 
crowd  of  people  at  a  camp-meeting,  or  rushing  to  a  fire,  or  en- 
gaged in  a  riot,  the  excitement  of  one  individual  increases  the 
excitement  of  another  and  the  excitement  of  all  increases  the  ex- 

i  W.  K.  Clifford,  Lectures  and  Essays,  "On  the  Nature  of  Things-in-Them- 
selves.     Lotze,  Microcosmos,  Book  II,  Chap.  I. 


THE    UNITY    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS  163 

citement  of  each.  In  all  this  there  is  no  fusion  of  consciousnesses. 
"We  speak  of  the  crowd  as  animated  by  a  single  purpose,  but  this 
is  only  a  figure  of  speech.  All  that  we  mean  is  that  each  member 
of  the  crowd  is  in  a  state  similar  to  that  of  all  the  rest.  In  the 
same  way,  no  matter  how  much  the  atoms  of  mind-stuff  are  in- 
tensified by  contact  with  one  another,  they  are  still  only  a  crowd  of 
separate  consciousnesses.  There  is  no  way  in  which  a  collection 
of  individuals  can  produce  unity  of  results  except  as  they  all  act 
upon  a  single  individual  whose  movement  may  be  said  to  represent 
the  activities  of  all.  But  we  find  no  indication  of  any  such  ele- 
ment in  the  brain  upon  which  all  the  other  portions  of  the  brain 
and  of  the  nervous  system  impinge,  or  which  they  in  any  way 
affect  by  any  process  of  interaction.  And  even  if  we  could  find 
such  an  element,  if  we  could  reduce  the  substratum  of  conscious- 
ness to  a  single  atom,  and  say,  "  Here  is  the  one  atom  which  is 
conscious,"  we  should  still  have  difficulty  in  taking  the  next  step 
toward  an  understanding  of  all  the  great  and  varied  content  of 
consciousness. 

The  material  explanation  of  spiritual  things  has  been  carried 
so  far  at  times  that  one  might  fear  the  possibility  that  all  spirit- 
ual phenomena  would  be  made  to  appear  dependent  upon  physi- 
cal processes.  Thus  the  mental  faculties,  memory,  thought,  are 
found  to  be  dependent  upon  the  condition  of  the  nervous  system. 
A  man  has  a  diseased  brain:  what  becomes  of  his  fine  reason,  or 
his  well-stored  memory  ?  A  man  grows  old :  his  mental  powers 
suffer  the  change  so  often  produced  by  age,  and  begin  to  fail. 
To  a  large  extent  the  condition  of  the  physical  elements  is  the 
measure  of  the  condition  of  the  spiritual  elements.  Yet,  from 
all  that  has  been  said,  we  see  that  there  is  a  point  beyond  which 
this  sort  of  reasoning  cannot  go.  Granting  all  the  objections 
that  can  be  made,  there  is  still  a  centre  of  consciousness  that  must 
be  independent  of  all  material  organization. 

Little  is  gained  by  the  attempt  to  free  any  one  function  of  con- 
sciousness from  relation  to  the  structure  of  the  brain.  Various 
writers  have  made  such  attempts.  Lotze,  for  instance,  would 
make  memory  independent.     If  memory,  he  says,  appears  to  be 


164  THE    UNITY    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS 

lost  through  some  physical  disorganization,  it  is  simply  that  the 
connection  has  been  broken  by  which  memory  is  reached.1  In 
explanation  of  our  forgetfulness  of  the  phenomena  of  dreams  it  is 
said  that  the  whole  dream  world  is  so  apart  from  the  waking  world 
that  there  is  no  element  of  suggestion  to  recall  the  dream  to  our 
memory.  In  similar  ways  others  attempt  to  show  that  the  will 
is  independent.  But  if  we  can  reason  from  analogy  we  may  as- 
sume that  there  is  no  mental  change  that  is  not  accompanied  by 
some  change  in  the  molecules  of  which  the  brain  consists.  The 
only  exception  is  found  in  the  fundamental  element  of  all,  that 
unity  of  consciousness  which  is  the  sphere  within  which  all  these 
changes  are  contained. 

The  argument  that  mind  cannot  have  been  produced  from 
matter  because  of  the  inconceivability  of  the  process  is  sometimes 
met  by  the  suggestion  that  other  familiar  processes  are  quite  as 
inconceivable.  Thus  Tyndall  says  somewhere  that  while  he  can- 
not conceive  how  material  forces  can  produce  spiritual  results, 
he  cannot  any  more  conceive  how  the  black  earth  can  be  trans- 
formed into  the  plant  and  flower,  so  that  he  can  see  no  particular 
reason  for  insisting  upon  the  inconceivability  of  this  special  re- 
lation. The  two  inconceivabilities,  however,  are  of  a  wholly 
different  kind.  The  difficulty  in  the  case  of  the  flower  is  only  a 
metaphysical  difficulty.  There  is  nothing  in  the  relation  itself 
which  challenges  our  ability  to  conceive  it,  but  only  the  number 
of  the  changes  that  are  involved.  When  we  consider  that  the 
color  and  scent  of  the  flower  are  simply  different  ways  in  which 
the  same  atoms  act  upon  our  consciousness  which  before  acted 
upon  it  when  they  were  in  the  water  or  the  mud,  we  see  that  there 
is  nothing  inconceivable  in  the  changes  but  only  a  strain  upon 
the  imagination.  In  the  passage  of  matter  into  mind,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  inconceivability  is  that  of  an  absolute  contradic- 
tion, the  contradiction  between  the  unity  of  consciousness  and 
any  possible  construction  of  multitudinous  matter. 

1  Micrccosmos,  Book  III,  Chap.  III. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  MIND  AND  ITS  POWERS,  CONTINUED. — THE  WILL. — THE  IDEA 
OF  PERFECTION. — THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  TELEOLOGY  AS  INVOLV- 
ING THE  "  WORLD-SOUL." — VON  HARTMANN's  THEORY  OF  THE 
UNCONSCIOUS. — THE  MOVEMENT  OF  THE  WORLD  TOWARD 
CONSCIOUSNESS:  TOWARD  THE  THREE  IDEAS  OF  THE  REASON 
AS  IDEALS. 

Not  only  is  it  impossible  to  conceive  of  mind  as  produced  from 
matter,  but  it  is  equally  inconceivable  that  certain  contents  of  the 
mind  can  be  derived  from  the  external  world  or  from  any  simple 
process  of  relation  with  it.  They  are  elements  that  the  mind 
itself  contributes.  To  quote  a  phrase  which  Professor  Green 
once  used  in  a  similar  connection,  and  later  repeated  in  his  Pro- 
legomena of  Ethics,1  they  have  no  "  natural  history."  That  the 
mind  should  thus  make  its  own  contributions  to  the  universe  is 
only  what  we  should  expect.  Everything  else  has  qualities  of 
its  own  which  are  not  derived  from  the  environment.  The  atoms, 
for  instance,  we  must  suppose  at  first  are  simply  attracted  toward 
one  another,  and  this  power  of  attraction  is  a  quality  inherent 
in  them  and  not  produced  by  the  environment.  As  they  are 
drawn  more  closely  together,  they  may  reach  a  point  where  they 
begin  to  repel  one  another,  but  this  repulsion  is  called  out  by  the 
approach,  and  when  the  relations  into  which  they  are  brought 
develop  chemical  and  other  aspects,  what  they  manifest  is  still 
something  that  has  been  inherent  in  them  and  is  now  simply 
called  forth.  In  the  world  of  organic  life,  also,  organism,  as  we 
have  just  seen,2  means  at  least  the  tendency  to  organize.  In  a 
similar  way  we  should  expect  to  find  that  the  mind  has  its  own 
peculiar  qualities  or  reactions, — for  qualities  are  nothing  but 
reactions, — and  since  the  mind  is  more  elastic  and  more  widely 
related  than  anything  else,  since  it  is  the  only  thing  that  can 

i  Introduction,  p.  5.  2  page  158. 


166  MIND    WITH    ITS    POWERS 

go  beyond  itself  and  return,  we  should  expect  to  find  its  quali- 
ties more  varied  and  more  marked. 

We  are  met  here  by  the  difficulty  that  all  our  nomenclature  is 
borrowed  from  the  material  world.  Shall  we  say,  for  instance, 
that  spirit  is  a  substance?  But  substance  is  a  term  taken  origi- 
nally from  the  material  world,  and  it  is  hard  to  separate  the  idea 
of  substance  from  that  world ;  substance  we  think  of  as  something 
that  is  fixed,  but  in  mind  or  spirit  there  is  nothing  that  is  fixed. 
The  same  is  true  of  the  term  "thing"  and  of  other  terms  which 
may  suggest  themselves.  The  mind  finds  it  difficult,  if  not  im- 
possible, to  employ  in  regard  to  itself  any  term  that  is  derived 
from  the  material  world.  This  difficulty  is  one  that  occurs  in 
various  relations.  Take,  for  instance,  the  phrase  which  is  so 
commonly  applied  to  the  mind  by  the  followers  of  Locke,  "  tabula 
rasa."  This  implies  that  the  mind  may  be  either  written  upon 
or  else  in  some  way  embossed.  Neither  process,  however,  can 
apply  to  the  mind.  For  in  the  one  case  a  foreign  element  is 
introduced,  and  in  the  other  an  absolute  passivity  of  the  mind 
is  implied.  But  the  mind  is  open  only  to  its  own  modifications 
and  it  never  is  merely  passive  but  always  reacts.  It  is  now  dis- 
tinctly understood  that  the  process  of  perception  involves  cate- 
gories of  the  understanding  just  as  truly  as  do  the  higher  processes 
of  thought,  and  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  simple  percep- 
tion. We  cannot  be  in  the  truest  sense  conscious  of  a  sensation 
without  some  process  of  thought  by  which  we  distinguish  and 
generalize.  Even  the  perception  of  a  tree  or  of  a  bit  of  wood  or 
stone  involves  categories  of  thought.  The  figure  of  the  "tabula 
rasa"  is  wholly  false. 

As  I  said  before,  we  must  expect  to  find  that  the  mind  is  marked 
by  certain  elements  of  its  own,  that  it  makes  its  own  contribu- 
tions to  the  universe.  In  considering  some  of  these  elements 
I  shall  pass  over  much  that  has  been  discussed  already  in  our  ex- 
amination of  the  psychological  elements  of  religious  faith.  Thus 
the  element  of  love  would  naturally  be  considered  here,  but  I 
have  already  spoken  of  it  both  in  relation  to  the  religious  feelings 
and  in  discussing  the  theories  of  a  natural  basis  for  the  moral 


WILL  167 

law.1  I  shall  add  here  only  that  in  the  spiritual  world  love  would 
seem  to  be  as  fundamental  and  inherent  as  attraction  is  in  the 
material  world,  and  if  it  is  thus  inherent  in  the  mind,  it  cannot 
be  the  product  of  natural  selection  but  is  one  of  the  elements 
which  natural  selection  uses. 

I  must  pass  on,  however,  to  consider  the  element  of  will.  Ac- 
cording to  Spencer,2  the  will  is  the  impulse  to  do  that  which  is 
most  habitual  under  circumstances  which  for  the  time  being 
have  made  the  course  to  be  followed  a  matter  of  doubt.  Thus 
I  see  some  animal  coming  toward  me  in  the  woods,  but  do  not 
know  what  it  is.  At  first  I  think  it  may  be  some  wild  beast, 
and  my  impulse  is  to  run  away,  but  then  I  think  it  may  be  a  dog, 
and  I  am  doubtful  what  to  do.  Finally  I  see  plainly  that  it  is 
a  calf,  and  I  keep  on  my  way  untroubled.  The  illustration  is, 
of  course,  a  simple  one,  and  where  circumstances  are  at  all  in- 
volved the  complications  that  arise  are  more  numerous,  but  in 
all  cases  the  principle  is  the  same. 

The  general  question  of  the  freedom  of  the  will  we  shall  take 
up  later.  I  am  considering  it  now  merely  in  its  most  external 
aspect.  Spencer's  account  of  the  will  seems  to  be  the  very  oppo- 
site of  the  truth.  What  we  mean  by  "will"  is  not  the  finding  out 
and  doing  what  is  most  habitual,  but  the  doing  what  is  least  habit- 
ual. In  other  words,  we  recognize  will  where  habit  is  broken 
through.  The  man  who  acts  merely  in  accordance  with  habit 
appears  to  us  to  be  destitute  of  will;  he  is  drifting,  not  steering. 
Thus  the  drunkard  is  in  the  habit  of  entering  the  saloon,  and  he 
exercises  his  will  in  breaking  the  "  habit."  It  may  be  said  that 
in  this  case  we  are  using  the  word  habit  in  too  restricted  a  sense; 
that  what  the  drunkard  has  been  seeking  all  the  time  is  pleasure 
and  that  when  he  discovers  that  he  loses  more  pleasure  by  drink- 
ing than  he  gains  and  therefore  tries  to  give  up  drinking,  he  is 
still  doing  what  he  has  always  done, — he  is  still  seeking  pleasure, 
although  in  a  different  way.  But  this  does  not  break  the  force 
of  the  illustration,  for  there  is  no  good  reason  why  a  man's  habit 

i  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chaps.  VTU  and  XI. 
2  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  Part  IV,  Chap.  IX. 


168  WILL 

should  be  separated  into  these  two  elements.  The  method  of 
seeking  is  a  part  of  the  habit  as  well  as  the  end  that  is  sought. 
This  man  has  been  in  the  habit  of  preferring  immediate  pleasure 
to  future  pleasure;  now  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  subordinate 
present  pleasure  to  future  pleasure.  He  has  been  in  the  habit 
of  seeking  his  own  pleasure,  but  now  he  is  roused  to  thought  for 
the  happiness  of  his  family.  Thus  his  habit  is  broken  through 
in  two  ways,  first  as  regards  the  relation  to  immediate  as  compared 
with  distant  pleasure,  and  secondly  as  regards  the  relation  to  his 
own  pleasure  when  compared  with  the  happiness  of  others.  We 
may  be  told,  perhaps,  that  the  case  is  one  of  heredity,  that  the  man 
is  descended  from  a  virtuous  and  temperate  stock  and  the  struggle 
is  between  the  man's  individual  habit  and  the  habit  of  his  fathers. 
But  here  we  come  upon  the  fact  that  what  we  recognize  as  the 
loftiest  manifestation  of  will  breaks  through  all  precedent,  estab- 
lishing a  new  precedent  and  forming  a  fresh  habit  on  a  higher 
plane.  It  is  in  this  way  that  the  great  leaders  of  the  world,  the 
epoch-making  men,  have  broken  through  the  constraints  of  the 
past.  From  whatever  side,  therefore,  we  look  upon  the  matter, 
we  find  that  will  is  the  opposite  of  habit,  and  that  it  is  in  the  power 
of  the  will  that  spirit  manifests  itself  in  a  form  peculiarly  strik- 
ing and  original. 

As  regards  Spencer's  Psychology  in  general,  it  may  be  of  great 
service  if  it  is  taken  as  a  tentative  or  experimental  work,  but  if 
considered  as  a  final  statement  of  the  questions  with  which  it 
deals,  it  is  wholly  inadequate.  The  materials  with  which  he  has 
to  work  are  few  and  only  such  as  his  philosophy  will  admit.  There 
is  the  illogical  and  unexplained  acceptance  of  some  reality  outside 
of  ourselves  as  a  datum,  but  this  is  the  only  point  at  which  the 
wall  that  shuts  us  in  within  ourselves  is  broken  through.  This 
external  something,  whatever  it  may  be,  has  the  power  to  set  our 
intellectual  activities  at  work.  We  recognize  its  existence,  but 
otherwise  we  know  nothing  about  it.  It  is  assumed  that  it  under- 
goes changes  which  correspond  in  a  certain  way  with  the  changes 
that  take  place  in  our  mental  states,  but  when  we  have  granted 
this  touch  from  the  outside  world  to  set  us  going,  we  are  to  admit 


THE    IDEA    OF   PERFECTION  169 

no  further  impulse  from  it;  there  is  no  feeling  that  is  directly  caused 
by  this  "thing  in  itself,"  if  I  may  use  Kant's  expression.  All  the 
elements  that  have  direct  relation  to  the  external  world  are  thus 
excluded,  and  we  can  understand  better  the  resort  to  the  some- 
what roundabout  method  by  which  sympathy  is  explained.  That 
great  leap  which  the  spirit  takes  in  love  and  s}Tnpathy,  by  which 
we  pass  outside  of  ourselves  and  identify  our  interests  with  those 
of  others,  suffering  not  only  with  them  but  for  them,  finding  it 
sometimes  more  difficult  to  reconcile  ourselves  to  the  sufferings  of 
others  than  to  our  own, — for  this  great  leap  Spencer's  psychology 
has  no  place  or  recognition. 

I  have  given  this  simply  as  an  illustration  of  the  meagreness  of 
the  elements  with  which  Spencer  has  to  work.  It  is  not  strange 
that  at  times  the  phenomena  which  he  is  describing  have  to  be 
made  over  to  suit  his  system,  the  pegs  whittled  down  to  fit  the 
holes.  The  process  is  not  unlike  that  which  we  have  found  in 
the  theology  of  Schleiermacher1  where  feeling  is  cut  down  to  fit 
the  place  allowed  for  religion  in  his  system.  Spencer  comes  as 
near  to  the  realities  that  he  is  considering  as  he  can.  In  the 
case  of  the  will  he  seems  hardly  to  have  looked  at  the  object  that 
he  is  describing.  As  I  said  before,  the  discussion  is  helpful  if  it 
is  considered  as  tentative.  We  see  precisely  what  can  be  accom- 
plished with  the  means  that  Spencer  recognizes,  and  we  see  also 
that  whatever  cannot  be  explained  by  his  system  demands  some 
explanation  that  goes  beyond  that  system. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  the  innate  character  of  the  three  ideas 
of  the  reason.2  There  is  one  aspect  of  them,  however,  which 
may  be  considered  more  especially  at  this  point,  the  idea  of  God, 
or  according  to  the  phrase  used  by  Anselm  and  Descartes,  the 
idea  of  the  most  perfect  being.  The  third  Meditation  of  Descartes 
contains  much  that  is  of  interest  in  this  connection.  He  here 
raises  the  question  as  to  the  origin  of  the  idea  of  the  most  perfect 
being.  We  have  considered  this  question  in  relation  to  the  a 
'priori  argument,3  and  now  the  thought  that  it  suggests  may  illus- 

1  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  60. 

2  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chap.  IX.  3  Page  72. 


170  THE    IDEA    OF    PERFECTION 

trate  and  strengthen  the  a  posteriori  argument.  Among  the  vari- 
ous ways  suggested  by  Descartes  in  which  the  idea  of  infinite 
perfection  might  have  been  obtained,  the  one  that  perhaps  offers 
itself  most  readily  to  that  thought  of  the  present  day  which  regards 
everything  as  produced  by  the  environment,  is  a  process  by  which 
the  infinite  is  to  be  reached  through  the  negation  of  whatever 
is  finite.  But  this  cannot  be,  he  urges,  if  we  are  to  consider  in- 
finite substance  as  having  more  reality  than  finite  substance. 
We  can  get  the  idea  of  substance  from  our  own  being,  but  not  the 
idea  of  infinite  substance.  For  if  we  follow  a  process  of  negation 
we  are  giving  up  certain  elements  of  our  own  experience,  whereas 
what  we  are  seeking  is  something  that  transcends  our  own  ex- 
perience. Hence,  he  argues,  the  idea  of  the  perfect,  the  absolute, 
is  more  fundamental  than  the  idea  of  the  finite.  For  how  do  I 
recognize  my  impressions  as  finite  except  as  I  compare  them 
with  that  which  does  not  possess  these  imperfections  ?  How 
do  I  know  that  I  lack,  if  I  do  not  have  some  idea  of  that 
which  is  absolutely  complete?  Thus  the  idea  of  the  infinite  is 
fundamental  and  the  idea  of  the  finite  secondary.  But  perhaps 
it  is  false,  he  suggests,  this  idea  of  the  perfect,  and  has  no  source 
and  no  reality.  Here  he  falls  back  upon  his  test  for  the  reality  of 
belief  in  the  clearness  and  distinctness  with  which  an  idea  presents 
itself;  he  finds  nothing  so  clear  and  distinct  as  this.  This  argu- 
ment would  have  weight  chiefly  with  Descartes  himself  and  his 
immediate  followers.  Perhaps  all  these  elements,  he  questions 
further,  which  I  conceive  as  belonging  to  the  most  perfect  being 
are  in  me  potentially.  Certainly  our  own  good  qualities  do  have 
a  gradual  increase,  and  there  are  elements  potentially  present  in 
our  natures  that  gradually  pass  from  a  potential  to  a  real  existence. 
But  no  potentiality  can  be  associated  with  the  idea  of  the  infinite. 
The  infinite  is  complete  and  possesses  all  its  qualities,  its  full  per- 
fection, in  reality.  These  elements  that  we  find  potential  in  our- 
selves can  never  by  any  process  of  development  reach  infinitude. 
Furthermore,  the  thought  of  perfection  cannot  have  had  its  origin 
in  me,  for  in  that  case  I  should  have  given  myself  a  perfection  to 
correspond  with  it,  and  by  the  same  reasoning  it  could  not  have 


THE    IDEA    OF    PERFECTION  171 

been  derived  from  my  parents.  Neither  could  I  have  obtained 
it  piecemeal,  gathering  its  elements  here  and  there,  for  that  which 
is  most  essential  in  this  idea  of  the  divine  perfection  is  its  unity. 
This  idea,  then,  must  have  been  impressed  upon  me  by  God  him- 
self, as  the  stamp  which  he  has  put  upon  his  handiwork. 

It  should  be  said  in  passing  that  the  figure  of  the  stamp  as 
Descartes  uses  it  has  a  very  different  meaning  from  that  in  which 
Sir  John  Herschel  speaks  of  the  assumed  similarity  between  the 
atoms  as  the  stamp  of  the  maker.1  That  involves  only  a  low  idea 
of  creation.  But  the  recognition  of  these  great  ideas  as  the  maker's 
stamp  is  something  much  more  profound  and  much  loftier.  For 
if  man  has  his  source  in  God  we  should  expect  to  find  in  him  some 
such  marks  of  his  divine  origin. 

Descartes  can  never  quite  free  himself  from  the  assumption  of 
that  which  he  is  trying  to  prove.  But  although  his  arguments 
may  not  always  convince,  they  do  awaken  us  to  the  importance 
of  the  question,  how  we  come  by  these  ideas  of  perfection.  It 
may  be  said  that  they  are  the  beginnings  and  the  indications  of 
a  growth  within  us,  the  reaching  forward  of  the  soul  in  the  process 
of  its  development,  the  bud  conscious  of  the  coming  flower.  But 
whence  comes  this  impulse  to  a  development  that  transcends  all 
experience?  Fichte  has  suggested  that  the  aspirations  toward 
perfection  belong  to  infinite  being  itself,  and  are  manifestations 
of  the  infinite  in  the  finite.  Absolute  being  has  differentiated 
itself  into  these  points  of  consciousness  each  of  which  presses 
toward  the  completeness  of  its  infinite  origin.  Other  ideas  we 
gather  from  experience  and  observation,  but  these  absolute  ideas 
are  not  the  outcome  of  any  experience  but  are  manifestations  of 
the  inmost  life  of  the  soul  itself.  The  ideals  thus  conceived  by 
us  are  never  attained,  says  Fichte,  and  therefore,  since  the  finite 
can  reach  infinitude  only  in  eternity,  we  are  destined  to  eternal 
life.2 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  with  the  conception  of  the  absolute  ideas 
the  motive  power  by  which  man  is  raised  from  the  brute  becomes 

i  W.  K.  Clifford,  Lectures  and  Essays,  "The  First  and  the  Last  Catastrophe." 
2  C.  C.  Everett,  Fichte1  s  Science  of  Knowledge,  Chap.  XII. 


172  THE    RELIGIOUS    INSTINCT 

transformed.  Man  is  driven  upward  by  the  struggle  for  existence, 
but  with  the  development  of  his  nature  another  element  enters, 
and  he  is  no  longer  driven,  but  led  by  ideas  that  entrance  his  soul. 
The  fitness  to  survive  no  longer  depends  upon  adaptation  to  the 
environment  but  upon  the  possession  of  that  which  is  most  worthy 
and  exalted  in  human  nature.  The  individual  who  is  in  the 
loftiest  sense  fittest  may  be  unfit  in  relation  to  his  environment. 

Man's  faith  in  the  absolute  ideas  is  one  of  the  instincts  of  his 
nature.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  consider  this  instinct  of  belief  at 
this  point  in  our  discussion,  except  in  relation  to  the  principles  of 
natural  selection.  This  relation  I  have  already  touched  upon1 
in  speaking  of  the  theologians  who  are  ready  to  abandon  without 
question  the  argument  from  design  and  appeal  instead  to 
the  religious  instinct.  They  forget  that  natural  selection  under- 
takes to  explain  the  origin  of  instincts  no  less  than  the  origin  of 
those  organs  that  are  made  the  basis  of  the  argument  from  tele- 
ology. The  religious  instinct  is  no  more  inconsistent  with  the 
principles  of  natural  selection  than  is  teleology.  At  least  we  must 
admit  that  religious  beliefs  have  the  support  of  natural  selection 
in  so  far  as  they  are  recognized  as  filling  a  place  and  serving  a 
need  in  the  development  of  the  world.  Natural  selection  may  be 
looked  at  in  either  of  two  ways.  It  may  be  regarded  as  the  process 
through  which  teleology  is  working,  or  it  may  be  considered  as  a 
process  pure  and  simple  in  which  no  principle  of  teleology  is  at 
work.  If  we  suppose  that  natural  selection  is  the  process  through 
which  the  principle  of  teleology  is  working,  there  are  again  two 
forms  under  which  the  teleological  principle  may  be  conceived. 
On  the  one  hand  we  may  think  of  it  as  representing  the  supreme 
being,  the  overruling  intelligence,  by  which  the  principle  of  natural 
selection  is  guided  in  its  operations.  If  we  admit  this,  we  do  not 
need  to  say  anything  further,  for  we  have  assumed  that  which  is 
the  object  of  religion;  we  have  assumed  as  a  starting-point  that 
toward  which  we  are  reasoning.  But  on  the  other  hand  we  may 
think  of  teleology  as  a  simple  tendency,  like  an  organic  impulse 
to  growth,  an  immanent  teleology,  so  to  speak,  as  compared  with 
what  may  be  called  the  transcendent  teleology  of  the  first  form, 
i  Page  147. 


THE    RELIGIOUS    INSTINCT  173 

If  we  accept  this  second  form,  then  the  religious  instinct  that  has 
been  so  fundamental  and  so  active  in  the  history  of  man  is  given 
the  authority  of  nature  itself,  and  we  can  use  with  a  certain  literal 
truth  the  words  of  Emerson, 

"Out  from  the  heart  of  nature  rolled 
The  burdens  of  the  Bible  old."1 

But  what  if  we  consider  natural  selection  as  a  process  by  itself 
in  which  no  principle  of  teleology  is  at  work?  What  in  that 
case  will  be  the  relation  of  the  religious  instincts  to  natural  selec- 
tion ?  They  will  have  to  be  regarded  as  moulded  by  the  outer 
world,  and  will  therefore  be  known  to  bear  a  certain  relation  to  the 
environment  and  so  to  have  a  certain  truth.  It  may  be  urged 
that  such  results  are  merely  temporary,  and  that  religion  is,  as 
Comte  has  declared,  one  of  the  stages  through  which  all  forms 
of  thought  have  to  pass.  But  the  question  at  once  occurs  whether 
nature  can  be  supposed  to  produce  her  most  important  results  by 
means  of  delusion.  It  is  assumed  that  the  results  of  natural  selec- 
tion are  in  harmony  with  the  environment,  but  here  would  be  a 
discord,  and  nature,  while  following  truth  in  her  lower  works, 
would  be  proceeding  in  her  highest  works  on  the  principle  of 
delusion.  A  certain  element  of  delusion  may  be  found  in  the 
lower  world,  as  for  instance  in  the  processes  of  mimicry.  But  in 
such  cases  the  delusion  is  not  for  the  advantage  of  the  being  that 
is  deluded;  thus  it  is  the  enemies  of  the  insects  that  are  foiled  by 
the  delusion.  In  the  case  that  we  are  considering  it  is  man  him- 
self who  would  be  deceived  by  his  delusion. 

There  is  still  another  aspect  of  the  case.  We  do  find  in  the 
lower  organisms  a  change  in  instinct  corresponding  with  the 
change  in  the  organism.  The  mosquito,  for  instance,  begins  its 
career  in  water  and  then  rises  into  the  air,  the  tadpole  undergoes 
a  similar  change.  The  butterfly  first  crawls  like  a  worm  and  then 
lifts  itself  upon  its  wings.  May  there  not  be  a  similar  change  of 
instinct  in  the  human  spirit,  only  with  a  reversal  of  the  process, 
so  that  at  first  it  mounts  up  toward  the  heavens  and  later  merely 
crawls  upon  the  earth  ?  It  is  to  be  noticed,  however,  that  in  all 
i  The  Problem. 


174  TELEOLOGY   AND    THE    "WORLD-SOUL" 

these  changes  in  the  lower  organisms,  each  form  of  instinct  cor- 
responds to  some  permanent  reality.  The  organism  simply  is 
brought  into  relation  with  different  parts  of  the  environment. 
When  the  mosquito  leaves  the  water,  when  the  butterfly  leaves 
the  earth,  water  and  earth  do  not  cease  to  exist.  Neither  of  them 
has  been  a  delusion,  but  from  the  beginning  there  has  been  a  real 
relation  to  a  reality.  Therefore  if  we  are  to  make  any  compari- 
son between  the  instinct  of  religious  belief  and  the  instincts  of  the 
lower  organisms,  to  show  that  an  instinct  may  exist  for  a  time 
and  then  pass  away,  we  have  to  recognize  this  fact,  that  instinct 
always  has  relation  to  some  reality.  On  the  other  hand,  just  in 
so  far  as  we  believe  that  the  religious  instinct  is  essential  to  the 
highest  life  of  man,  so  far  we  may  believe  that  it  has  the  guar- 
antee of  the  principle  of  natural  selection.  For  the  irreligious 
race  would  tend  to  give  way  before  some  race  that  had  the 
strength  which  comes  from  the  full  and  free  development  of  the 
religious  instinct. 

We  have  considered  the  relation  of  the  religious  instinct  to  the 
principle  of  natural  selection  under  both  of  the  two  aspects  that  are 
presented,  examining  it  first  on  the  supposition  that  natural  selec- 
tion is  the  process  through  which  teleology  is  working,  and  then  on 
the  supposition  that  natural  selection  is  a  process  by  itself  in 
which  no  teleological  principle  is  at  work.  In  point  of  fact, 
however,  we  have  found  reason  to  recognize  the  principle  of 
teleology  as  working  through  the  process  of  natural  selection. 
Therefore  we  need  not  dwell  upon  the  second  aspect  of  the  re- 
lation but  may  turn  back  once  more  to  the  first  aspect. 

What,  then,  is  the  nature  of  this  principle  of  teleology  ?  What 
does  it  involve  ?  If  nothing  more,  it  involves  at  least  something 
like  that  which  has  been  called  the  "world-soul,"  or  like  the 
"Will"  of  Schopenhauer,  or  the  "Unconscious"  of  Von  Hart- 
mann.  All  these  expressions  embody  in  different  language  the 
same  thought  of  a  power  that  is  working  through  all  the  changes 
of  the  world  and  in  a  certain  sense  controlling  them.  In  Von 
Hartmann's  Philosophie  des  Unbewussten  the  conception  is  per- 
haps reduced  to  its  lowest  terms,  for  he  does  not  call  the  power 


VON    HARTMANN  S    THEORY  175 

that  thus  works  in  the  world  either  will  or  world-soul  but  simply 
"the  unconscious."  He  states  only  that  which  he  assumes  as  a 
fact,  that  there  is  a  power  which  works  unconsciously  through 
all  things.  Von  Hartmann's  system  as  a  whole  is  disappointing. 
The  first  part,  in  which  he  undertakes  to  prove  the  existence  of  the 
principle  of  the  unconscious,  is  very  interesting,  and  even  if  the 
conclusions  are  not  always  perfectly  sustained,  yet  it  seems  to  pre- 
pare the  way  for  a  helpful  philosophy.  One  difficulty  is  in- 
volved which  is  similar  to  a  difficulty  that  appears  in  the  system 
of  Schopenhauer.  Many  have  found  it  hard  to  conceive  of 
Schopenhauer's  "unconscious  will,"1  but  it  is  much  harder  to  ac- 
cept the  "unconscious  vorstellung"  of  Von  Hartmann.  He 
argues  that  if  the  power  that  is  at  work  through  everything  is 
working  toward  an  end,  this  end  must  in  some  way  be  present  to 
it,  and  it  must  therefore  have  a  vorstellung;  but  since  the  power 
is  unconscious,  the  vorstellung  also  must  be  unconscious.  But 
the  expression  seems  to  be  a  contradiction  in  terms. 

It  is  when  Von  Hartmann  comes  to  his  philosophical  discussion 
that  he  is  so  disappointing.  Instead  of  basing  a  system  upon 
the  facts  which  he  has  observed,  he  explains  the  facts  by  a  system 
which  he  appears  to  have  adopted  quite  independently  of  them. 
In  the  first  part  of  his  work  he  has  shown  that  there  is  a  teleologi- 
cal  principle  in  the  world,  the  principle  of  the  unconscious.  But 
the  philosophy  of  the  unconscious  is  not  developed  from  this 
unconscious  element,  which  is  of  little  assistance  toward  his  final 
conclusion. 

Of  Von  Hartmann's  pessimism  I  will  not  speak  here,  except  to 
say  that  although  he  claims  to  be  an  optimist  he  is  practically  a 
pessimist;  his  teleology  is  the  destruction  of  teleology;  the  pur- 
pose of  the  world  is  to  put  an  end  to  itself.  I  have  referred  to  his 
system  in  order  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  suggestion  of  what 
appears  to  me  to  be  the  true  method  of  studying  the  philosophy 
of  the  unconscious.  For  suppose  we  accept  Von  Hartmann's 
theory  that  there  is  an  unconscious  power  working  through  the 
world.  What  way  should  we  take  to  find  the  ends  toward  which 
1  F.  H.  Hedge,  Atheism  in  Philosophy,  "Arthur  Schopenhauer." 


176  THE    MOVEMENT   TOWARD    CONSCIOUSNESS 

this  power  is  working,  and  thus  to  find  what  is  the  nature  of  the 
power  itself  ?  We  should  ask,  what  is  the  direction  of  the  move- 
ment, and,  given  the  direction,  what  is  the  goal?  And  then,  if 
we  had  arrived  at  any  definite  conclusion,  we  should  ask,  what 
is  involved  as  a  postulate  provided  the  goal  is  to  be  reached  ?  It 
is  some  such  method  as  this  which  we  might  have  expected  Von 
Hartmann  to  adopt  in  the  second  part  of  his  discussion. 

It  will  be  helpful  to  follow  out  this  line  of  thought  briefly.  In 
the  first  place  the  world  evidently  has  been  working  from  the 
beginning  toward  intelligence  and  consciousness.  The  move- 
ments of  the  inorganic  elements  before  life  appears,  the  appear- 
ance first  of  organic  and  then  of  sensitive  life,  then  the  appear- 
ance of  consciousness,  at  first  in  its  lower  manifestations  and  then 
in  the  form  of  higher  and  higher  intelligence  until  we  reach  man, 
the  development  of  man  in  an  ever-enlarging  sphere  of  knowl- 
edge,— all  these,  science  tells  us,  are  stages  in  a  single  course  of 
development.  Therefore  the  movement  has  been  steadily  toward 
the  highest  results  that  have  as  yet  been  reached.  But  if  the 
world  has  been  tending  toward  intelligence,  and  if  we  assume 
that  the  movement  is  not  fortuitous,  then  we  may  ask  what  is 
necessary  in  order  that  a  consummation  may  be  possible.  We 
have  a  right  to  assume  that  the  movement  has  not  been  fortui- 
tous. Throughout  the  world  we  find  such  adaptation  to  the 
various  ends,  nature  has  such  definite  and  perfect  ways  of  ac- 
complishing her  purposes,  that  we  may  take  it  for  granted  that 
nothing  has  been  aimed  at  which  involves  contradiction  or  ab- 
surdity. 

The  intelligence  is  of  two  kinds,  according  as  it  is  related  to 
that  which  is  without  or  that  which  is  within.  On  the  one  hand 
is  the  comprehension  of  the  world,  knowledge,  and  on  the  other 
the  comprehension  of  ourselves,  self-consciousness.  If  it  is 
wholly  attained,  the  world  becomes  transparent,  within  and  with- 
out. Perhaps  this  result  is  never  to  be  reached  by  finite  beings. 
But  it  contains  nothing  that  is  in  itself  contradictory  or  incon- 
ceivable. The  end  toward  which  nature  has  been  tending  is  a 
possible  end.     What  does  this   involve  as   regards  the  external 


THE    MOVEMENT   TOWARD    CONSCIOUSNESS  177 

world?  We  turn  back  to  that  which  we  have  found  to  be  the 
postulate  of  the  intellect.1  The  world  must  be  comprehensible, 
it  must  be  ideal,  and  if  it  is  ideal  it  must  be  the  manifestation  of 
spirit,  that  is,  of  something  which  is  akin  to  man  himself.  For 
if  it  is  otherwise,  then  the  whole  movement  of  the  world  toward 
intelligence  is  to  end  at  last  in  the  doctrine  of  the  unknowable; 
it  is  to  end  in  darkness  when  through  all  the  ages  of  its  history 
it  has  been  pressing  toward  the  light.  It  is  this  idea  of  the  un- 
knowability  of  all  things  that  almost  breaks  the  heart  of  Faust 
when,  after  devoting  himself  all  his  life  to  the  search  for  knowl- 
edge, he  finds  that  knowledge  is  unattainable.  The  case  of  Faust 
is  the  case  of  a  single  individual.  But  here  is  the  whole  world, 
through  all  its  long  development,  pressing  forward  to  know!  If, 
therefore,  we  may  thus  interpret  the  workings  of  nature,  we  find 
that  the  end  which  she  seeks  demands  for  its  fulfilment  the  same 
truth  that  is  demanded  by  religion,  the  presence  of  a  spiritual 
life  in  the  universe  as  its  source. 

As  regards  self-consciousness,  the  knowledge  of  ourselves,  the 
suggestion  that  I  have  to  make  is  offered  with  less  confidence. 
Self-knowledge  seems  to  depend  largely  upon  sympathy.  We 
understand  ourselves,  in  some  degree  at  least,  in  proportion  as 
we  are  understood  by  others.  The  sympathy  of  others  and  the 
expression  of  ourselves  to  others  reveal  us  to  ourselves  as  no  dumb 
life  can.  If  we  place  an  individual  alone  on  some  island,  his 
inner  life  must  become  less  distinct  and  less  conscious  of  itself, 
in  spite  of  whatever  help  it  may  receive  from  the  memory  of 
former  associations.  Human  sympathy,  however,  goes  only  a 
little  way.  The  deepest  feeling  of  the  heart  cannot  be  expressed 
even  to  the  nearest  friend; 

"Thought  is  deeper  than  all  speech, 
Feeling  deeper  than  all  thought."2 

If  I  am  right  in  thinking  that  the  sympathy  of  others  is  necessary 
to  the  fuller  consciousness  of  ourselves,  then  an  absolute,  infinite 
companionship   is  demanded,   the  companionship  of  a   spiritual 

i  Page  102.  2  Christopher  P.  Cranch. 


178      THE  MOVEMENT  TOWARD  GOODNESS 

presence  to  which  the  very  depths  of  our  inward  life  are  thrown 
open. 

Again,  and  secondly,  the  movement  of  the  world  has  been 
always  toward  the  ideas  of  the  reason,  accepted  not  merely  as 
ideas  but  as  ideals,  as  powers  in  the  life,  representing  the  highest 
ends  toward  which  intelligence  itself  is  working.  For  the  highest 
spiritual  life  of  man  is  reached  in  proportion  as  the  truth  and 
goodness  and  beauty  of  the  universe  are  recognized,  not  as  ab- 
stractions, but  as  active  factors  in  the  life.  From  the  lofty  char- 
acter of  the  ideas  of  the  reason  it  might  be  inferred  that  we  should 
have  to  wait  for  a  considerable  development  of  intelligence  before 
we  found  any  trace  of  them.  It  is  therefore  pleasant  to  recognize 
the  fact  that  they  are  rooted  very  deeply  in  the  life  of  the  world, 
and  that  we  find  traces  of  them  low  down  in  the  process  of  devel- 
opment before  the  beginning  of  human  life.  Sometimes  there 
is  a  jealousy  of  this  lower  life,  and  an  unwillingness  to  grant  to 
it  any  elements  that  belong  to  our  higher  life.  But  we  do  not 
need  to  be  jealous  of  the  lower  life.  If  we  must  fight  for  our 
supremacy,  no  doubt  that  supremacy  is  more  imperilled  in  this 
direction  than  in  any  other.  But  the  gulf  is  so  great  that  we  can 
afford  to  grant  freely  whatever  we  really  find  in  the  lower  life. 
If  we  have  no  disposition  to  insist  upon  the  difference  between 
the  higher  and  the  lower,  then,  of  course,  we  have  no  fear  upon 
this  point.  It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  religion  has  almost 
always  dreaded  any  new  opening  and  enlargement  in  the  rela- 
tions of  universal  life,  and  yet  when  once  the  broader  view  has 
been  accepted  she  has  found  in  it  new  strength. 

To  speak  first  of  the  idea  of  goodness,  we  find  an  instinctive 
faith  in  goodness  in  the  trustfulness  of  the  lower  life  of  the  world, 
the  trust,  for  instance,  with  which  beast  and  bird  meet  the  dark- 
ness. But  not  to  press  this  aspect,  I  shall  pass  at  once  to  the 
subjective  view  and  examine  goodness  as  a  power  in  the  life. 
Here,  of  course,  we  must  use  the  term  "goodness"  in  its  broadest 
and  fullest  significance,  for  if  we  mean  by  goodness  only  the 
submission  to  the  moral  law  recognized  as  such,  our  search  would 
be  useless.     But  we  have  found  that  love  is  the  essence  of  good- 


THE  MOVEMENT  TOWARD  GOODNESS       179 

ness,  the  fulfilment  of  the  law,  and  where  love  is  present  we  find 
also,  if  not  goodness,  at  least  that  which  is  the  culmination  of 
goodness,  that  for  which  goodness  is  the  preparation.  Some 
moralists  and  theologians  are  in  the  habit  of  speaking  slightingly 
of  the  natural  affections  as  compared  with  that  moral  goodness 
which  is  adopted  consciously  and  through  principle.  Yet  if  the 
position  that  we  have  taken  is  correct,  the  natural  affections  repre- 
sent at  certain  points  the  results  toward  which  morality  itself 
would  urge  us;  they  are  in  a  sense  higher  than  morality,  inas- 
much as  they  are  already  a  part  of  life.  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  there  is  no  difference  between  the  virtue  which  has  come  to 
be  part  of  the  nature  after  passing  through  the  stages  of  conscious 
morality  and  the  virtue  that  has  undergone  no  such  conscious 
process.  I  am  not  insisting  that  the  love  of  the  beast  for  its  own 
is  equivalent  in  value  to  the  love  of  the  Christian  mother.  For 
while  her  love  is  as  natural  as  that  of  the  beast,  the  great  spiritual 
realities  which  she  recognizes  add  to  it  a  beauty  and  fulness  that 
otherwise  it  could  not  have.  At  the  same  time  we  have  to  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  natural  affection  is  in  its  lowest  and  earliest 
form  essentially  the  same  as  in  the  highest,  and  that  the  life  that 
has  attained  to  it  in  so  far  finds  itself  upon  the  height  which  it  is 
the  business  of  life  to  reach  in  all  relations.  The  life  of  animals 
has  been  spoken  of  as  carnage.  But  the  "struggle  for  existence" 
does  not  necessarily  imply  combat  and  the  destruction  of  others, 
but  simply  self-assertion,  and  to  this  self-assertion  and  the  de- 
velopment of  life  the  element  of  love  is  as  essential  as  the  element 
of  strife.  It  is  even  more  essential,  for  where  no  struggle  is  nec- 
essary love  still  is  needed  for  the  care  and  protection  of  the  young, 
and  love  is  the  cord  which  binds  one  generation  to  another.  Fur- 
thermore, the  love  of  the  animal  is  not  confined  to  its  young  or 
to  those  who  stand  in  immediate  relationship  with  it.  Every 
one  is  familiar  with  the  self-sacrificing  love  of  the  dog  for  man,  a 
being  wholly  alien  to  him,  and  Darwin,  in  The  Descent  of  Man,1 
tells  the  story  of  a  small  ape  which  when  its  keeper  was  attacked 
by  a  baboon  sprang  to  the  keeper's  assistance.     But  in  such  love 

i  Part  I,  Chap.  III. 


180  THE    MOVEMENT    TOWARD    BEAUTY 

are  the  beginnings  of  the  higher  life.  For  the  higher  life  is  life 
outside  one's  self,  and  in  that  forgetfulness  of  self  which  involves 
the  thought  of  others  is  the  true  manifestation  of  the  higher  life. 
When  once  a  man  loves,  if  only  a  single  person,  a  single  thing, 
then  there  is  found  in  him  at  least  the  beginning  of  the  higher 
life.  It  may  be  only  the  germ  of  that  life,  so  weak  that  it  can 
hardly  come  to  its  full  development,  but  it  is  there. 

If  the  movement  of  the  world  has  been  toward  goodness  it  has 
been  no  less  toward  beauty.1  Everything  seen  in  its  type,  its 
ideal,  is  beautiful.  Not  that  every  creature  is  beautiful;  but 
wherever  any  one  sphere  of  life  is  manifested,  there  we  find  beauty. 
What  is  of  still  more  importance  for  our  purpose,  the  perception 
of  beauty,  the  esthetic  sense,  begins  far  down  in  the  line  of  being. 
It  has  been  said  that  the  manifestation  of  the  sense  of  beauty  is 
first  seen  in  the  adornment  of  the  person.2  It  is  hard  either  to 
affirm  or  to  deny  this,  but  probably  the  beginning  is  rather  in  the 
adornment  of  the  environment.  Thus  humming  birds  frequently 
ornament  the  outside  of  their  nests,  and  the  Australian  bower- 
birds  build  their  arbors  not  as  tents  for  shelter,  but  as  halls  of 
courtship  or  for  pure  amusement,  and  decorate  them  in  various 
ways,  with  bleached  bones  or  grasses  or  different  colored 
shells.3 

The  taste  for  music  frequently  shown  by  the  lower  animals 
is  of  course  familiar  to  us  all.  Horses  are  easily  trained  to  dance 
in  time,  and  dogs  often  appear  to  be  much  moved  by  music,  some- 
times even  assuming  sentimental  attitudes.  In  an  article  in 
LitteWs  Living  Age,  taken  from  The  Spectator,  entitled  "  Or- 
pheus at  the  Zoo,"4  the  writer  tells  of  an  experiment  made  in  a 
zoological  garden  to  test  the  effect  of  music  upon  the  animals 
confined  there;    the  wolves,  it  seems,  were  terrified,  but  nearly 

1  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  Chap.  XII. 

2  Popular  Science  Monthly,  Jan.,   1881,  an  article  by  Grant  Allen  entitled 
"^Esthetic  Evolution  in  Man." 

3  Darwin,  The  Descent  of  Man,  Part  II,  Chap.  XIV. 
*  LitteWs  Living  Age,  Dec.  5,  1891. 


THE    MOVEMENT    TOWARD    BEAUTY  181 

all  the  other  animals  showed  a  great  deal  of  pleasure;  further- 
more they  all  appeared  to  be  sensitive  to  discord,  the  cobra  being 
especially  affected. 

If  we  accept  Darwin's  theory  of  sexual  selection,  that  each  sex 
has  certain  marks  which  are  pleasing  to  the  other,  and  that  these 
marks  are  inherited,  it  follows  that  the  existence  of  so  many 
birds  of  brightly  colored  plumage,  or  of  sweet  or  brilliant  song, 
may  be  due  to  the  esthetic  sense  in  animals.  It  has  been  sug- 
gested, however,  that  such  variations  are  merely  sexual  marks, 
and  that  the  individuals  which  possess  them  in  a  higher  degree 
have  the  advantage  over  others  simply  because  in  them  the  ele- 
ment of  sex  is  stronger.  But  if  this  is  so,  then  we  only  have  a 
dilemma  either  horn  of  which  will  serve  our  purpose.  To  some 
extent  our  dice  are  loaded.  Whether  nature  has  produced  the 
beauty  directly  or  has  given  a  love  of  beauty  to  the  lower  creat- 
ures, there  is  in  either  case  a  tendency  of  the  world  toward  the 
beautiful.  It  is  said  in  favor  of  the  assumption  that  the  marks 
of  beauty  are  sexual  marks,  that  any  peculiarity  serves  the  pur- 
pose equally  well;  thus  the  headgear  of  the  turkey-cock  exercises 
an  attraction  of  a  sort  similar  to  that  of  the  exquisite  appendages 
of  the  bird-of-paradise.  But  this  does  not  affect  the  question. 
For  if  we  recognize  taste  at  all,  we  may  recognize  bad  taste  as 
well  as  good  taste.  Certainly  that  is  what  we  find  in  the  world 
of  men.  People  set  up  pictures  and  statues  that  are  as  different 
from  real  works  of  art  as  the  headgear  of  the  turkey-cock  is  differ- 
ent from  the  plumage  of  the  bird-of-paradise.  The  dress  of  men 
and  women,  beyond  what  is  necessary  for  decency  and  warmth, 
must  be  considered  as  in  some  sense  an  expression  of  taste,  an 
effort  more  or  less  distinctly  made  toward  beautifying  the  person. 
But  if  we  had  never  seen  anything  like  the  dress  of  the  gentleman 
of  the  present  day  and  were  looking  at  it  from  the  point  of  view  of 
some  savage,  it  would  no  doubt  seem  to  us  as  absurd  as  we  now 
consider  the  dress  and  adornment  of  the  savage.  Yet  all  this  does 
not  show  the  absence  of  taste.  The  effort  that  has  been  made, 
however  unsuccessful  it  may  appear,  is  in  the  direction  of  taste; 
it  is  an  effort  toward  beauty. 


18*2  THE    MOVEMENT    TOWARD    BEAUTY 

It  may  be  that  we  all  experienced  a  shock  when  we  learned  that 
the  color  and  fragrance  of  the  flowers  are  largely  governed  by 
principles  of  natural  selection  in  the  attempt  to  attract  the  pollen- 
bearing  bees.  We  might  say  that  the  bees  themselves  enjoy  the 
fragrance  of  the  flowers  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us.  But  facts  would 
hardly  justify  this  assertion.  For  conspicuousness  appears  to  be 
all  that  is  essential.  The  fragrance  of  the  flower  is  the  sign  of 
its  little  shop  in  which  honey  is  offered  for  sale  in  return  for  the 
service  that  the  bees  render.  Therefore  the  fragrance  and  color 
of  the  flowers  are  built  upon  utility.  But  here  as  elsewhere  we 
must  recognize  that  all  teleology  works  through  efficient  causes, 
and  if  we  find  that  all  these  elements  of  efficient  causation,  however 
modified,  have  had  some  part  in  making  the  world  beautiful, 
we  can  only  say  that  this  is  the  method  which  nature  takes,  and 
repeat  with  greater  emphasis  our  original  statement  that  the 
tendency  to  beauty  is  inherent  in  nature  itself. 

When  we  arrive  at  human  life,  the  esthetic  sense  declares  itself 
still  more  plainly,  taking  form  both  in  personal  adornment  and  in 
art.  Even  in  the  stone  age  we  find  the  beginnings  of  art,  draw- 
ings of  animals  and  the  like,  well  done,  and  done  for  the  sake  of 
the  drawings.  Here  is  an  immense  step  in  the  development  of 
life, — the  separation  of  form  from  reality,  and  the  enjoyment  of 
form  without  regard  to  the  reality  which  it  represents.  For  such 
enjoyment  witnesses  to  a  certain  freedom  from  the  dominion  of 
the  material  elements  of  the  world.  Life  has  begun  to  be  in  a 
certain  sense  a  play.  The  spirit  is  emancipated,  and  can  contem- 
plate things  without  regard  to  personal  needs.  After  a  time  the 
passion  for  beauty  becomes  in  certain  natures  dominant  and  is 
made  a  cultus,  an  object  of  devotion,  so  that  men  sacrifice  to 
beauty  as  they  sacrifice  to  goodness  and  to  truth.  I  do  not  mean 
in  the  torture  that  they  are  willing  to  undergo  for  the  sake  of 
personal  adornment,  in  the  thought  of  giving  pleasure;  there  is 
indeed  the  recognition  here  of  an  ideal  of  beauty,  but  it  is  a  very 
low  ideal.  What  I  have  in  mind  is  that  recognition  of  ideal  beauty, 
without  regard  to  personal  relations,  which  impels  men  to  give 
up  for  its  sake  wealth  and  position  and  ease  of  life.     It  is  that 


THE    MOVEMENT    TOWARD    UNITY  183 

devotion  which  we  find  in  artists  like  Millet  and  Corot,  refusing 
to  paint  except  in  accordance  with  their  ideals  of  beauty. 

Thus  in  beauty  as  in  goodness  there  is  at  first  simply  an  uncon- 
scious movement  toward  the  end,  the  tendency  of  nature  itself. 
Then,  as  life  advances,  the  consciousness  of  the  impulse  becomes 
stronger  and  stronger  until  it  reaches  that  fulness  and  power 
which  must  be  regarded  as  in  a  certain  sense  divine.  The  strug- 
gle and  unconscious  sacrifice  in  the  earlier  stages  indicate  before- 
hand the  nature  of  the  higher  life  of  free-will  sacrifice  that  is  to 
come.  In  all  the  different  stages  the  movement  is  the  same, 
responding  first  to  the  pressure  from  without  and  then  to  the  im- 
pulse from  within. 

In  what  I  have  been  saying  of  the  movement  of  the  world 
toward  the  ideas  of  the  reason  I  have  spoken  first  of  goodness 
and  of  beauty  because  the  movement  toward  truth  or  unity  is 
less  conspicuous.  Yet  an  analysis  of  the  three  ideas  shows  that 
the  idea  of  unity  is  the  basis  of  the  others.1  Therefore  just  in 
so  far  as  power  is  found  in  goodness  and  beauty,  must  unity  also 
be  regarded  as  having  power.  It  may  be  that  the  trustfulness 
of  the  lower  life  of  the  world  implies  an  instinctive  faith  in  the  idea 
of  truth  as  well  as  in  the  idea  of  goodness.  But  as  I  have  said 
before,2  I  do  not  wish  to  give  much  weight  to  this  suggestion. 
When,  however,  we  come  to  human  life  we  find  unmistakably 
the  recognition  of  unity.  At  first  this  recognition  is  unconscious, 
and  the  idea  of  unity  is  simply  taken  for  granted,  as  in  the  proc- 
esses of  induction  and  the  perception  of  the  absoluteness  of  the 
law  of  causation.  Then  it  comes  to  fuller  and  fuller  conscious- 
ness, until  at  last  men  are  ready  to  sacrifice  to  it  as  they  do  to 
goodness  and  to  beauty.  There  is  something  peculiarly  sublime 
in  the  sacrifices  which  are  thus  made  to  truth.  That  reply  of 
Agassiz,  that  he  had  not  time  to  make  money,  expresses  not 
merely  the  feeling  of  Agassiz  alone,  but  of  all  that  immense  body 
of  men  of  whom  he  was  a  representative,  and  who  in  the  pur- 

i  C.  C.  Everett,  The  Science  of  Thought,  pp.  137-164. 
The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  pp.  149,  185,  199. 

2  Page  178. 


184  THE    MOVEMENT   TOWARD    ALL   THREE    IDEAS 

suit  of  scientific  truth  have  not  only  turned  aside  from  paths  that 
might  have  led  to  wealth  and  honor,  but  have  given  up  their  hope 
of  immortality  or  their  faith  in  the  divine  guidance  of  the  world 
because  they  believed  that  truth  required  it. 

There  is,  then,  the  same  history  in  regard  to  all  three  ideas  of  the 
reason, — at  first  the  unconscious  movement  toward  them,  then 
the  more  or  less  marked  recognition  of  their  power,  and  then, 
with  the  full  consciousness  of  their  meaning  and  value,  the  glori- 
fication of  them  as  something  divine,  and  the  readiness  to  make 
them  the  object  of  the  most  complete  sacrifice.  We  may  even  say 
that  it  is  in  this  form  that  the  divine  has  manifested  itself  to  those 
who  give  themselves  up  to  this  special  service. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  A  POSTERIORI  ARGUMENT  THE  COMPLEMENT  OF  THE  A  PRI- 
ORI ARGUMENT. — RELIGION  AND  THE  THEORY  OF  NATURAL 
SELECTION. 

What  relation  do  these  results  bear  to  our  general  argument  ? 
We  have  all  along  recognized  in  the  three  ideas  of  the  reason 
the  content  of  religion.  Therefore  if  we  find  that  they  are  no 
afterthought  or  invention  but  have  their  roots  deep  down  in  the 
very  constitution  of  things  and  are  bound  up  with  nature  itself, 
then  we  may  conclude  that  religion  also  has  its  roots  in  the  history 
and  constitution  of  the  world.  Thus  the  a  posteriori  argument 
in  this  aspect  and  the  a  priori  argument  complement  each  other. 
The  a  posteriori  argument  furnishes  a  basis  and  background  for 
the  a  priori  argument,  while  the  a  priori  argument  comes  to  com- 
plete the  evidence  of  the  a  posteriori  argument.  Together  they 
form  a  circle.  It  is  not  a  vicious  circle,  for  the  one  is  not  involved 
in  the  other;  in  this  circle  the  arcs  strengthen  as  well  as  complete 
each  other  as  they  come  together. 

The  ingenuity  and  complexity  of  organic  life  do  not  in  them- 
selves indicate,  as  some  of  the  older  thinkers  have  held,  the  pres- 
ence of  a  teleological  principle  in  the  world.  But  as  we  find  one 
range  of  being  growing  out  of  another,  the  higher  out  of  the  lower, 
we  are  driven  more  and  more  to  seek  the  impulse  of  this  move- 
ment somewhere  beyond  any  one  stage  in  the  process.  In  every 
stage  we  find  certain  potentialities  which  are  not  yet  manifested 
and  for  which  the  necessary  conditions  are  not  given.  Certain 
material  conditions,  of  course,  may  appear,  apart  from  which  these 
potentialities  do  not  exist.  But  that  impulse  which  leads  to  the 
transition  from  the  lower  stage  to  the  higher  is  not  found  in  any 
material  conditions.     Thus  in  the  plant  we  know  from  observa- 


186  THE    A    POSTERIORI    ARGUMENT    CONCLUDED 

tion  that  any  one  stage  in  its  history  contains  the  promise  and 
potency  of  all  the  rest,  and  yet  there  is  nothing  in  the  material 
conditions  whether  of  this  stage  or  of  the  stages  that  have  pre- 
ceded it  to  warrant  the  result.  In  a  similar  way  it  might  be  said 
that  the  world  itself  is  like  a  plant,  with  one  period  of  its  existence 
springing  from  another,  as  the  Hindu  systems  have  represented 
it;  but  here,  too,  there  would  be  the  same  difficulty  in  finding 
in  any  present,  outward  conditions  the  unifying  impulse.  It  is 
when  we  get  the  outcome  of  it  all,  so  far  as  we  can  as  yet  recognize 
this  outcome,  that  a  flood  of  light  is  poured  over  the  whole  history 
of  the  world,  and  nature  at  last  speaks  to  man  as  spirit  to  spirit. 
Then,  as  we  look  back,  we  find  that  from  the  very  beginning  there 
has  been  a  tendency  toward  this  spiritual  manifestation,  a  spiritual 
impulse  working  from  the  first.  I  call  it  a  spiritual  impulse  be- 
cause the  outcome  is  spiritual.  I  do  not  mean  merely  that  the 
human  spirit  has  been  produced  out  of  the  material  universe,  al- 
though this  result  would  be  sufficient  for  our  purpose,  but  that 
man,  himself  a  spirit,  as  he  comes  to  his  fuller  development,  meets 
in  nature  a  spirit  that  is  akin  to  his  own,  so  that  a  great  ideal  of 
beauty  greets  him  and  exalts  him. 

We  find,  then,  that  from  the  first  nature  has  been  an  idealist. 
That  is,  the  ideas  which  we  claim,  whether  rightly  or  wrongly, 
are  in  some  sense  innate  in  the  spirit,  have  been  innate  in  nature 
itself.  All  these  material  forces  in  their  strife  with  one  another 
have  seemed  to  exclude  the  ideal  element,  so  that  as  we  have 
looked  upon  them  we  have  been  almost  ashamed  to  assert  the 
thought  of  the  spiritual  as  anything  more  than  an  accident  in  the 
universe.  But  we  find  instead  that  all  through  the  working  of 
the  material  forces  these  ideas  have  been  the  ruling  principle  to 
which  the  material  world  has  been  subject.  In  view  of  this  we 
may  be  surprised  at  finding  that  according  to  the  indications 
of  science  the  history  of  the  world  is  to  be  a  limited  history, — that 
by  degrees  the  motion  of  the  earth  will  become  slower  and  slower 
until  it  stops,  that  everything  is  tending  to  an  equipoise  in  which 
life  will  be  impossible.  Of  course  there  may  be  error  in  such  fore- 
casts;   the  scientists  may  or  may  not  be  right.     But  it  will  not 


THE   A    POSTERIORI    ARGUMENT    CONCLUDED  187 

do  here  or  anywhere  to  leave  our  theories  dependent  upon  chances. 
At  first  sight,  certainly,  the  theory  of  an  ultimate  decline  in  the 
life  of  the  world  would  seem  to  affect  the  principle  of  teleology. 
It  is  easy  to  see  that  natural  selection,  which  up  to  a  certain  point 
works  in  favor  of  the  most  completely  developed  organisms,  would 
after  that  point  was  reached  work  in  a  precisely  opposite  direction. 
For  just  as  when  the  conditions  are  favorable  the  higher  forms 
of  life,  the  more  complex  and  more  developed  forms,  have  the  ad- 
vantage, so  as  conditions  become  unfavorable  the  advantage  is 
with  the  simpler  and  lower  forms. 

In  such  an  event,  however,  we  may  reply,  the  world  must  be 
considered  as  an  organism  like  all  the  other  organisms  with  which 
we  are  familiar,  having  like  them  its  periods  of  growth  and  ful- 
filment and  decay,  and  we  do  not  need  to  deny  the  existence  of  the 
teleological  principle  in  the  world  because  of  the  decline  in  its 
life  any  more  than  we  deny  the  existence  of  the  teleological  princi- 
ple in  the  plant  or  animal  or  in  man  simply  because  after  their 
growth  they  begin  at  last  to  wither  and  pass  away.  Nor  would 
the  decline  of  life  in  the  world  vitiate  the  conclusions  that  are 
reached  during  the  period  of  development  and  fulfilment.  For 
just  as  an  organism  is  judged  not  by  the  period  of  its  decline  but 
by  the  period  of  its  freshness  and  maturity,  so  the  real  signifi- 
cance of  the  world  is  to  be  found  in  the  fullest  result,  the  highest 
product,  which  has  been  attained  in  the  course  of  its  development. 
Furthermore,  if  we  ask  what  place  there  would  be  for  religious 
faith  under  the  changed  conditions  that  are  assumed,  we  must 
also  ask  what  place  there  is  for  faith  at  a  similar  moment  in  the 
history  of  the  individual  life.  Experience  has  shown  that  relig- 
ious faith  is  not  dependent  upon  favorable  external  conditions. 
When  external  conditions  are  favorable,  faith  may  indeed  use 
them  to  justify  itself,  but  when  they  cease  to  be  favorable  faith 
uses  them  only  as  something  that  is  to  be  discredited;  it  gives 
up  its  foothold  upon  the  earth  and  takes  to  its  wings.  And  if  we 
ask  what  manifestations  there  would  be  of  the  divine,  we  may 
reply  that  although  certain  forms  of  manifestation  upon  which 
faith  has  relied  might  be  absent,  yet  other  forms  might  be  present 


188  THE    A    POSTERIORI    ARGUMENT    CONCLUDED 

in  even  greater  fulness,  such  as  the  divinity  of  self-sacrifice  and 
love. 

Our  examination  of  the  a  posteriori  argument  ends  here.  So 
far  as  the  principle  of  teleology  is  concerned,  the  tendency  in 
nature  toward  a  certain  result,  the  argument  is  well  made  out. 
Given  the  necessity  of  choice  between  chance  and  teleologv,  we 
must  recognize  teleology.  Some  may  hold  further  that  teleology 
is  incomprehensible  unless  it  is  regarded  as  design.  I  have  nothing 
to  urge  against  this  position.  There  might  be  some  question, 
however,  whether  the  incomprehensibility  is  of  such  a  nature  as 
to  force  us  to  recognize  the  presence  in  the  world  of  a  conscious, 
designing  will.  If  we  leave  out  of  account  the  a  priori  argument, 
the  importance  of  which  I  would  not  undervalue,  the  argument 
that  is  based  upon  the  thought  of  a  final  cause  seems  to  me  stronger 
than  that  which  is  based  upon  the  idea  of  efficient  cause.  It  seems 
to  me  that  God  is  needed  more  as  the  end  toward  which  nature 
is  pressing  than  as  the  cause  from  which  it  proceeds.  Whether 
the  simple  adaptation  of  means  to  ends  in  the  organic  life  of  the 
world  would  be  enough  to  lead  us  to  the  thought  of  a  designing 
will,  may  be  open  to  question;  but  when  we  see  the  outcome  of 
it  all,  when  we  see  not  only  that  nature  is  tending  to  certain  results 
but  that  these  results  are  ideal,  spiritual  results,  and  when  we  see 
what  is  demanded  by  them,  the  thought  of  an  infinite,  spiritual 
presence  which  alone  can  satisfy  the  needs  of  the  soul,  then,  cer- 
tainly, our  side  of  the  argument  must  seem  to  us  the  stronger.  It 
is  the  working  of  the  teleological  principle  in  nature  that  has 
brought  us  into  the  position  to  make  our  demand.  Everything 
has  pointed  toward  this  result,  and  we  are  justified  by  the  whole 
great  sweep  of  the  movement  of  the  world. 

We  can  better  understand  now  the  limitation  of  that  position 
in  which  Hume  has  been  followed  by  Kant  and  others,  namely, 
that  we  can  reason  to  no  greater  fulness  of  spiritual  life  than  that 
which  we  see  manifested  in  the  world  about  us.1  This  position 
must  be  enlarged  by  asking  what  is  involved  in  the  results  that  are 
reached,  in  the  degree  of  perfection  that  we  see.     In  examining 

1  Th-e  Psycfwlogical  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  49. 


NATURAL    SELECTION    AND    RELIGION  189 

a  piece  of  machinery  we  do  not  measure  the  inventive  genius  of 
the  man  who  has  contrived  it  by  our  own  comprehension  of  the 
mechanism,  but  from  what  we  do  see  we  reason  to  what  we  do 
not  see.  In  a  similar  way  we  find  in  the  world  sufficient  evidence 
of  the  power  and  conscious  wisdom  that  are  needed  to  fulfil  the 
ends  toward  which  the  world  is  tending.  Seeing  all  this  we 
must  feel  that  the  world  cannot  be  a  failure,  as  it  certainly  would 
be  if  the  needs  which  the  development  of  life  had  excited  were 
not  to  be  met,  and  if  the  spirit  on  reaching  its  most  mature  devel- 
opment were  then  obliged  to  fall  back  into  a  world  of  material 
relations  instead  of  rising  into  a  world  of  spiritual  relations. 

"The  frailest  leaf,  the  mossy  bark, 
The  acorn's  cup,  the  raindrop's  arc, 

The  shining  pebble  of  the  pond, 

Thou  inseribest  with  a  bond. 

In  thy  momentary  play, 

Would  bankrupt  nature  to  repay."1 

But  what  is  the  relation  of  the  theory  of  natural  selection  to  this 
process  that  we  have  been  considering  and  the  results  that  we  have 
reached  ?  We  hear  theologians  say  that  religion  can  use  the  prin- 
ciple of  natural  selection,  that  the  creative  power  can  be  con- 
ceived as  working  through  it  as  easily  as  through  any  other  method. 
But  this  is  not  the  point.  The  question  is  not  whether  religion 
can  use  this  principle  but  whether  it  must.  It  is  this  question 
which  we  have  been  trying  to  answer.  What  relation,  then,  is  to 
be  recognized  ? 

In  the  first  place,  granting  that  religion  is  right,  the  theory  of 
natural  selection  offers  certain  helps  to  our  thought  of  the  world. 
Thus  it  takes  from  the  world  the  aspect  of  mechanism  and  from 
its  maker  the  aspect  of  a  contriver.  If  all  the  little  intricate 
appliances  by  which  organic  life  is  sustained  are  to  be  regarded 
as  the  result  each  of  some  specific  design,  the  idea  of  God  may  or 
may  not  remain  for  us,  but  certainly  it  is  a  relief  to  find  that  these 

1  R.  W.  Emerson,  Ode  to  Beauty. 


190  NATURAL    SELECTION    AND    RELIGION 

more  minute  results  may  be  explained  in  large  part  through  the 
working  of  general  principles  rather  than  by  special  contrivance. 
Of  course  omniscient  spirit  must  recognize  not  only  the  general 
laws  but  the  particular  results,  and  the  most  minute  results  must 
be  open  to  it.  Yet  it  is  a  relief  to  approach  the  matter  from  the 
side  of  general  principles  and  not  merely  from  that  of  specific 
contrivance. 

Another  help,  however,  still  more  real,  is  afforded.  We  know 
how  large  a  place  is  held  by  strife  and  suffering.  We  now  see  that 
these  have  been  the  instruments  by  which  nature  has  been  goaded 
on  from  point  to  point  until  it  has  reached  the  measure  of  perfec- 
tion that  we  observe,  and  we  recognize  that  no  element  of  such 
suffering  has  been  useless  but  that  all  has  contributed  to  the  gen- 
eral result.  Here  a  greater  question  arises, — whether  omnis- 
cience and  omnipotence  could  not  have  created  the  world  without 
using  so  terrible  a  method  of  advance  as  this.  This  question, 
however,  is  apart  from  our  present  discussion.  At  present  we 
have  only  to  recognize  that  although  the  relief  which  is  suggested 
by  the  principle  of  natural  selection  is  not  final  or  absolute,  it 
is  nevertheless  up  to  a  certain  point  very  helpful.  Moreover,  in 
so  far  as  it  shows  that  there  has  been  progress  in  the  world,  it 
affords  a  refutation  of  absolute  pessimism,  for  that  world  cannot 
be  considered  wholly  evil  in  which  strife  and  suffering  have  been 
the  instruments  of  good,  and  in  which  the  lower  stages  of  life  have 
given  place  continually  to  the  higher.  It  may  be  urged  that  the 
real  evil  will  come  through  the  highest  consciousness.  We  can 
only  reply  that  no  one  of  these  suggestions  is  final,  but  that  all  are 
helpful. 

The  relations  that  we  have  just  considered  are  indirect.  If 
we  ask  what  has  been  the  direct  part  played  by  the  principle  of 
natural  selection,  we  find  that  it  has  not  been  a  force  of  impulsion. 
It  has  acted  rather  as  a  cog,  preventing  retrogression  in  the  move- 
ment of  the  world  and  preserving  at  every  stage  the  highest  results 
already  attained.  We  find  also  that  a  fresh  light  is  thrown  upon 
these  results,  showing  more  clearly  the  unity  and  harmony  in  the 
universe.     For  leaving  out  the  results  of  conscious,  spiritual  life, 


NATURAL    SELECTION    AND    RELIGION  191 

and  turning  back  to  the  lower  stages  of  human  life  and  to  the  life 
below  man,  we  see  that  there  could  have  been  no  advance  which 
was  not  supported  by  a  real  worldly  or  earthly  power,  no  ad- 
vance which  did  not  make  the  individual  better  able  to  live  and  to 
cope  with  his  environment.  It  is  sometimes  said  that  a  special 
manifestation  of  the  divine  power  which  controls  the  world  is 
shown  in  the  preservation  of  man  in  his  helplessness  among  all 
the  wild  forces  of  nature.  But  according  to  the  principle  of  natural 
selection  man  could  not  and  would  not  have  maintained  himself 
if  he  had  not  had  some  advantage  in  the  struggle  for  existence. 
Although  he  was  feeble  physically,  yet  by  his  mental  powers  he 
was  able  to  contend  successfully  with  the  elements  and  with  the 
wild  beasts.  He  became  the  master  of  the  world  because  he 
had  in  himself  the  power  to  secure  the  mastery.  Thus  a  special 
providence  appears  not  to  be  needed  for  the  preservation  of 
man  at  the  beginning  of  his  career  any  more  than  for  the 
preservation  of  the  lion  or  the  tiger.  In  the  one  case  as  in 
the  other  the  working  of  providence  is  seen  in  the  fact  that  to 
each  creature  is  given  the  means  by  which  he  is  able  to  maintain 
himself. 

As  we  reach  the  higher  stages  of  human  life,  the  principle  of 
natural  selection  applies  less  than  it  did  in  the  lower  stages.  To 
repeat  what  I  have  said  a  little  before  in  another  connection,1 
as  man  advances,  instead  of  being  driven  by  the  forces  of  natural 
selection,  he  is  attracted  by  the  manifestation  of  the  higher  ideas. 
Human  ingenuity  and  the  mental  powers  in  general  have  so  far 
changed  the  relation  between  man  and  his  environment,  that 
whereas  up  to  the  beginning  of  this  more  conscious  and  intelli- 
gent life  of  man  the  survival  of  the  fittest  meant  on  the  whole  the 
survival  of  the  best  and  highest,  when  once  we  reach  the  stage 
of  the  more  complex  human  society,  that  which  survives  may  still 
be  fittest  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  Darwinian  phrase,  as  most 
adapted  to  its  environment,  but  it  may  not  be  at  all  the  fittest  in 
the  highest  sense  of  the  word. 

Greg,  in  the  Enigmas  oj  Life,  has  given  a  number  of  illustra- 
tions to  show  how  in  certain  aspects  the  principle  of  natural  se- 
i  Page  172. 


192  NATURAL    SELECTION    AND    RELIGION 

lection  appears  to  work  against  the  survival  of  the  fittest.1  Thus 
in  the  middle  ages,  when  men's  interests  were  for  the  most  part 
divided  between  the  world  of  war  and  the  world  of  monasticism, 
war  tended  to  kill  off  in  battle  the  strongest  physically  and  the 
most  courageous,  while  monasticism  through  its  encouragement 
of  celibacy  tended  to  leave  the  more  spiritual-minded  without 
offspring,  so  that  the  general  tendency  of  the  period  was  to  sup- 
press the  development  both  of  the  physically  best  endowed  and 
also  of  those  who  were  best  endowed  spiritually.  Another  singu- 
lar illustration,  which  may  apply  better  to  England,  perhaps, 
than  to  our  own  country,  is  found  in  the  statement  that  since 
heirs  are  looked  upon  as  valuable  prizes  in  the  matrimonial  mar- 
ket and  since  the  richest  heirs  are  generally  only  children,  the  prin- 
ciple of  natural  selection  working  through  the  marriages  of  these 
heirs  tends  to  a  diminution  in  the  size  of  families,  since  an  only 
child  would  be  less  likely  to  have  many  children  than  the  members 
of  larger  families.  A  larger  application,  however,  of  this  theory  is 
seen  in  the  fact  that  as  a  rule  the  more  cultivated  part  of  the 
community  tends  to  have  fewer  children  than  the  less  cultivated. 
In  all  this,  in  so  far  as  it  is  true,  there  is  simply  another 
indication  that  in  the  more  advanced  relations  of  life  we  must 
trust  rather  to  the  inspiration  of  the  ideal  than  to  the  working 
of  natural  selection.  Natural  selection  does  indeed  work  in  these 
higher  relations  through  communities.  The  community  which 
possesses  the  higher  life  will  be  stronger  than  one  which  does  not 
possess  it.  It  is  possible  that  the  forces  of  natural  selection 
working  within  the  several  communities  may  kill  out  the  higher 
ideas  in  each,  and  that  all  may  be  left  to  contend  upon  the  same 
plane.  But  here  our  trust  must  be  in  the  recoil  of  the  spiritual 
life.  Just  as  in  the  past  we  see  that  in  the  very  moment  when 
things  looked  darkest  there  came  some  fresh  access  of  the  spirit- 
ual life,  so  we  may  have  hope  and  confidence  for  the  future. 

As  we  look  back  upon  the  lower  stages  in  the  development  of 
the  world  we  can  see  in  what  direction  the  movement  of  the  whole 
has  tended.     We  can  also  see,  as  we  reach  the  more  complex 

i  W.  R.  Greg,  Enigmas  of  Life,  III,  "Non-Survival  of  the  Fittest." 


NATURAL    SELECTION    AND    RELIGION  193 

relations  of  the  higher  civilization,  that  here,  too,  the  movement 
has  been  mainly  in  the  same  direction.  Furthermore,  we  recognize 
that  it  has  been  in  that  same  direction  partly  in  spite  of  the  forces 
of  natural  selection  which  have  been  at  work  within  each  com- 
munity. We  recognize  that  in  part,  at  least,  the  development 
of  the  higher  civilization  has  been  a  movement  against  the  stream. 
Thus  the  charities  and  philanthropies  of  the  world  have  been 
opposed  in  greater  or  less  degree  to  the  principles  of  the  political 
economy  which  would  base  itself  upon  the  theory  of  natural  selec- 
tion. But  in  recognizing  this  we  also  recognize  the  more  clearly 
the  power  of  those  ideals  which  we  have  been  considering.  As 
our  confidence  in  the  power  of  the  steamship  increases  when  we 
see  it  moving  against  the  stream,  so  we  may  have  fresh  confidence 
in  these  motive  forces  of  humanity  as  we  find  them  by  their  own 
might  setting  themselves  against  the  forces  of  natural  selection. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  CREATION. — MAN'S  POWER  TO  THINK  IN 
GENERAL  CONCEPTS:  AS  ILLUSTRATED  IN  THE  STORY  OF  THE 
GARDEN  OF  EDEN. — SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  AND  THE  SENSE 
OF  THE  SUPERNATURAL. — MAN'S  RECOGNITION  OF  THE  IDEAL 

AND    OF   THE    HINDRANCES   TO    ITS    ATTAINMENT. THE    SENSE 

OF    THE    COMIC. THE    SENSE    OF    BEAUTY. MAN    THE    ULTI- 
MATE   PRODUCT    IN    THE    PROCESS    OF    DEVELOPMENT. 

We  now  take  up  again  the  story  of  creation.  Scientists  tell  us 
that  the  world  existed  for  ages  without  man.  But  Philosophy  asks, 
"  How  could  this  be  ?  If  the  world  exists  simply  as  object,  how 
could  it  have  existed  when  there  was  no  subject  ? "  Religion 
answers  that  infinite  spirit  recognized  the  world  and  so  gave  it 
objectivity.  Furthermore,  there  are  those  who  find  the  germs 
of  subjectivity  in  the  world  itself.  But  then  comes  the  question, 
"  If  the  world  is  interesting  chiefly  as  the  dwelling  place  of  man, 
why  should  it  have  existed  for  so  long  a  period  without  man  ? 
Why  was  not  man  created  at  once,  and  the  world  at  once  made 
ready  for  his  dwelling  place  ?  "  Or  if  the  phenomenality  of  time 
is  recognized,  why  were  there  so  many  stages  below  man  ? 

It  is  to  be  said  at  once  that  if  we  assume  that  the  world  was 
created  only  on  account  of  man,  we  meet  difficulties  on  every  side. 
You  may  remember  the  lines  of  Pope : — 

"While  man  exclaims,  'See  all  things  for  my  use!' 
'See  man  for  mine!'  replies  a  pampered  goose."1 

The  thought  of  the  existence  of  the  world  for  long  ages  before 
man  came,  the  recognition  of  creatures  that  are  troublesome  to 
man  or  useless  to  him  or  that  flee  before  him,  all  show  that  this 

i  Essay  an  Man,  Ep.  Ill,  45,  46. 


THE    BEGINNINGS    OF   CREATION  195 

point  of  view  is  one  that  cannot  be  maintained.  If  in  any  sense 
man  is  to  be  considered  the  centre  of  the  world,  it  must  be  rather 
as  the  final  cause  in  the  process  of  development,  the  world  tending 
constantly  toward  the  highest  life  that  is  possible  for  it,  and  if 
all  things  are  tributary  to  this  highest  life,  it  is  because  they  repre- 
sent the  stages  which  must  be  passed  through  before  the  highest 
life  is  reached.  There  is  no  more  objection  to  this  than  to  the 
recognition  of  man  as  the  final  cause  in  the  process  of  embryonic 
development.  Instead  of  regarding  man,  therefore,  as  a  sort  of 
afterthought,  we  should  rather  look  upon  the  lower  forms  of  life 
as  cases  of  arrested  development,  like  the  leaf  as  compared  with 
the  flower. 

Still  the  question  may  be  asked,  "Why  was  this  final  result 
so  long  deferred  ? "  To  one  who  compares  the  suffering  and 
struggle  in  human  life  with  what  seems  to  us  the  peace  in  lower 
forms  of  life,  it  may  seem  that  the  question  should  rather  be,  why 
so  soon?  Emerson  has  given  expression  to  this  thought  in  The 
Sphinx,  but  the  picture  that  he  draws  is  exaggerated  from  both 
points  of  view.  On  the  one  hand  there  is  a  glory  in  human  life 
that  is  found  nowhere  else,  and  on  the  other  hand  strife  and  suffer- 
ing are  found  in  the  lower  forms  of  life  as  truly  as  in  the  life  of 
man.  Consciousness  does  indeed  add  a  new  element  to  suffering 
in  human  life  through  the  power  of  reflection  and  concentration 
that  it  brings ;  a  man  as  he  looks  back  upon  the  past  and  forward 
into  the  future  may  feel  all  the  sorrow  of  a  lifetime  concentrated 
into  a  single  moment.  But  if  consciousness  thus  adds  to  the  suffer- 
ing of  the  higher  life  it  adds  in  equal  measure  to  its  joy,  and  if 
man  can  ask  of  the  lower  forms  of  life,  "  Is  there  any  sorrow  like 
unto  my  sorrow?"  he  can  also  ask,  "Where  is  there  any  joy  that 
is  like  my  joy?" 

Furthermore  we  have  to  recognize  that  no  process,  except  as 
it  is  merely  a  mechanical  process,  is  completed  simply  in  its  re- 
sult. In  mechanical  processes,  such  as  the  building  of  a  house 
or  the  manufacture  of  a  watch,  the  only  thought  is  of  the  result 
that  is  to  be  accomplished.  If  the  watch,  for  instance,  is  incom- 
plete, it  is  good  for  nothing  except  in  so  far  as  there  is  a  possibility 


196  THE    BEGINNINGS    OF   CREATION 

of  completing  it ;  its  worth  comes  with  its  completion.  In  organic 
processes,  on  the  other  hand,  each  part,  each  stage,  has  a  value  as 
truly  as  another.  I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  that  all  stages  have 
the  same  value.  But  take  the  illustration  that  is  offered  in  the  life 
of  the  individual  man.  We  might  ask  why  man  is  so  long  in 
maturing.  Why  all  these  years  of  helplessness  and  of  education 
and  training,  these  years  of  folly  and  inexperience  ?  WThy  should 
not  every  man  come  into  the  world  another  Adam,  full-grown  and 
perfect,  with  all  his  faculties  matured  ?  But  we  know  very  well 
that  if  anything  of  this  sort  were  to  take  place  life  would  lose  a 
great  part  of  its  beauty  and  joy.  For  the  full-grown  man  is  the 
man  only  as  he  is  also  the  child  and  the  youth.  Sometimes  we 
speak  of  childhood  as  though  its  value  were  in  the  promise  of 
manhood  that  it  gives.  But  ask  the  poet  or  the  mother,  and  they 
may  say  that  man  exists  for  the  sake  of  the  child  and  reaches  his 
true  flowering  and  beauty  in  the  child.  The  truth  is  that  neither 
is  the  man  for  the  sake  of  the  child  nor  the  child  for  the  sake  of 
the  man,  but  human  life  is  for  the  sake  of  all  and  each  stage  has 
its  value. 

"Till 

The  traveller  and  the  road  seem  one 

With  the  errand  to  be  done," — 

Those  lines  of  Emerson's1  sometimes  seem  to  me  to  contain  more 
philosophy  than  was  ever  put  into  so  few  words. 

Another  illustration  of  the  same  truth  is  to  be  found  in  the  novel 
or  the  play.  The  purpose  of  the  novel  is  not  accomplished  simply 
in  the  union  of  the  hero  and  the  heroine.  If  our  interest  were 
only  in  the  fact  that  at  last  John  and  Jane  were  married,  we  might 
as  well  take  the  list  of  marriages  in  the  morning  paper  and  have 
half  a  dozen  romances  at  once.  But  it  is  the  story  that  we  want. 
The  end  is  for  the  sake  of  the  story,  and  not  the  story  for  the  sake 
of  the  end.  The  last  act  of  Hamlet  is  by  no  means  the  most  inter- 
esting part  of  the  play.  It  is  the  same  in  a  game.  A  man  does 
play  to  win,  but  the  game  is  not  for  the  winning,  as  the  player 
who  cheats  mistakenly  assumes. 

i  Etienne  de  la  Boece. 


THE    BEGINNINGS    OF    CREATION  197 

We  may  find  here  the  suggestion  of  a  way  to  remove  the  diffi- 
culty which  some  have  felt  in  recognizing  the  principle  of  final 
causation  in  the  world  and  which  may  also  have  presented  itself 
in  regard  to  the  principle  of  teleology.  This  difficulty  is  best 
stated  by  Spinoza,  who  says  that  there  can  be  no  final  causation. 
For,  he  reasons,  we  cannot  conceive  of  God  as  doing  anything 
that  is  not  worth  doing  in  itself,  anything  that  is  done  merely 
for  the  sake  of  something  else.1  The  solution  of  this  problem 
is  found  in  bringing  together  Spinoza's  doctrine  that  everything 
must  exist  for  its  own  sake  and  our  other  doctrine  which  recog- 
nizes the  working  of  a  teleological  principle  in  the  world.  We 
must  consider  everything  as  created  both  for  its  own  sake  and 
also  as  a  part  in  a  greater  whole.  Thus  we  do  away  with  the 
element  of  aimlessness  which  seems  to  be  introduced  with  the 
denial  of  final  causation,  and  at  the  same  time  we  avoid  the  mere 
service  and  secondary  worth  that  are  implied  in  the  teleological 
principle  when  we  insist  upon  it  from  the  ordinary  point  of  view. 

Kant  urges  that  every  man  is  an  end  in  himself  and  must  not 
be  made  an  instrument;  he  may  use  inorganic  matter  as  instru- 
ments but  he  must  not  be  an  instrument  himself.2  We  may  apply 
to  all  the  elements  of  the  world  this  principle  which  Kant  applies 
to  man,  and  say  that  there  is  nothing  which  should  be  conceived 
as  merely  an  instrument.  Yet  just  as  service  is  the  great  glory 
of  humanity,  and  the  crowning  grace  of  life  is  found  in  the  fact 
that  man  makes  himself  an  instrument,  so  the  complete  beauty 
of  the  world  appears  as  every  stage  or  part  contributes  to  all  the 
rest,  and  all  contribute  to  each  part.  This  does  not  lower  our 
estimate  of  humanity.  It  simply  puts  humanity  in  a  fresh  light, 
and  we  see  in  it  a  new  beauty. 

Of  the  beginnings  of  human  life  as  distinct  from  the  lower 
forms  of  life,  science  gives  no  account.  WThen  we  first  find  it, 
it  is  already  far  advanced,  for  even  in  the  stone  age  we  find  the 
beginnings  of  art.     It  is  not  strange  that  man  should  have  for- 

1  Ethica,  Pars  I,  Appendix. 

2  The  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  F.  Max  Miiller,  1881,  Vol.  II,  pp.  468-481. 


198  THE    STORY    OF   EDEN 

gotten  the  earlier  stages  of  his  general  existence,  just  as  he  for- 
gets in  his  individual  life  the  first  months  or  years  of  his  childhood, 
and  it  is  equally  in  the  nature  of  things  that  there  should  be  no 
record  of  these  earliest  years,  for  that  man  should  be  able  to  make 
any  sort  of  record  is  in  itself  evidence  of  no  little  progress  in  his 
development.  In  the  story  in  the  book  of  Genesis  there  is  a  pict- 
ure which  to  many  has  stood,  and  still  stands,  as  the  authentic 
account  of  the  beginning  of  human  life  upon  the  earth.  This 
glimpse  into  the  garden  of  Eden  is  like  some  beautiful  romance. 
Here  are  earthly  conditions,  but  earthly  conditions  the  most  favor- 
able that  are  possible.  All  the  elements  are  absent  that  can  cause 
pain,  and  all  that  can  give  joy  are  present.  There  is  perfection 
within,  and  without  there  is  an  environment  to  which  this  per- 
fection is  adapted.  Those  who  have  accepted  this  picture  have 
differed  somewhat  in  their  interpretation  of  certain  details.  Thus 
the  Arminians  and  Socinians  take  the  ground  that  the  goodness 
of  Adam  and  Eve  was  rather  the  goodness  of  innocence  than  of 
virtue,  the  entire  absence  of  fault  rather  than  the  presence  of 
actual  perfection.  The  Protestants  have  been  inclined  to  regard 
the  original  perfections  as  natural,  the  Catholics  have  tended  to 
consider  them  as  gifts,  so  that  whereas  according  to  the  common 
Protestant  view  when  man  fell  his  nature  became  corrupt,  accord- 
ing to  the  Catholic  view  certain  supernatural  endowments  were 
taken  away  from  him.  Here  the  Arminians  and  Socinians  agree 
with  the  Catholics  to  this  extent,  that  they  regard  immortality 
as  a  special  gift,1  instead  of  holding  with  Protestants  in  general 
that  man  was  by  nature  immortal. 

As  we  read  the  story  in  Genesis,  however,  we  find  it  difficult 
to  understand  how  all  these  qualities  can  be  derived  from  it. 
Even  a  natural  immortality  is  hardly  in  accord  with  the  fear  which 
God  is  made  to  express  that  man  may  eat  of  the  tree  of  life  and 
live  forever,  and  moral  perfection  such  as  is  attributed  to  Adam 
and  Eve  seems  not  to  be  consistent  with  their  fall  at  the  first 
temptation.  But  apart  from  such  questions  and  from  whatever 
value  the  story  may  have  in  general,  it  has  a  special  interest  in 

i  Jacobus  Armiuius,  Disputationes  Privates,  Thesis  XXVI. 


THOUGHT   IN    GENERAL   CONCEPTS  199 

connection  with  the  next  step  in  our  examination,  and  I  shall 
refer  to  it  again  shortly.  Leaving  it,  however,  for  the  moment, 
and  returning  to  the  scientific  account  of  human  life,  at  what  point 
are  we  to  begin  to  use  the  term  "  man  "  ?  It  is  impossible  to  draw 
any  sharp  line  of  division,  but  the  criterion  which  may  be  used 
with  most  safety  is  the  power  of  thinking  in  general  concepts. 
This  is  the  position  that  is  taken  by  Schopenhauer  as  well  as  by 
Locke  and  others.  The  animal  thinks  in  pictures  or  in  some 
form  of  sensation,  whereas  man  although  much  of  his  thought 
may  also  be  on  this  lower  plane,  has  the  power  to  think  in  gen- 
eral concepts  or  ideas. 

This  position  would  be  attacked  from  both  sides.  On  the  one 
hand  there  are  some  who  insist  that  man  also  thinks  only  in 
pictures;  they  confuse  perception  and  imagination.  On  the 
other  hand  some  maintain  that  the  animal  as  well  as  man  has  the 
power  to  think  in  general  concepts,  and  they  urge  that  it  cannot 
be  proved  that  it  does  not  think  in  this  way.  To  this  we  can 
only  answer  that  it  cannot  be  proved  that  it  does,  and  that  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  law  of  parsimony  the  burden  of  proof  is  upon 
those  who  hold  that  it  does.  We  must  carry  the  method  of  think- 
ing in  pictures  as  far  as  we  can,  and  it  is  astonishing  to  see  how 
far  one  can  advance  without  thinking  in  concepts.  Take  for 
instance  the  association  of  ideas.  If  the  sound  of  a  dinner  bell 
always  suggests  to  a  dog  a  picture  of  a  dinner,  the  practical  effect 
is  the  same  as  if  the  dog  had  reached  the  conclusion  that  the  din- 
ner bell  stands  for  dinner.  There  is  here  the  germ  or  the  hint  of 
a  syllogistic  process,  but  we  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the 
germ  is  developed  into  the  process  itself.  We  all  know  how  very 
strong  this  power  of  association  is.  Here  is  a  city  street  in  which 
all  the  houses  are  so  nearly  alike  that  one  must  look  at  the  num- 
bers to  make  sure  which  is  the  house  where  he  wishes  to  call, 
and  yet  a  horse  which  has  stopped  only  once  at  one  of  those 
houses,  months  before,  will  go  directly  to  the  same  house  again. 
A  horse  happens  to  be  hit  by  a  whip  in  the  hand  of  the  driver 
of  a  red  omnibus,  and  thereafter  the  horse  shies  whenever  he 
meets  a  red  omnibus.     These  principles  of  association  no  doubt 


200  THOUGHT   IN    GENERAL    CONCEPTS 

enter  largely  into  human  thought,  and,  as  I  have  already  suggested, 
it  is  possible  that  in  animals  there  is  the  germ  of  the  power  to 
think  in  general  concepts.  It  is  well  to  notice,  however,  that 
such  beginnings  of  the  higher  intellectual  life  as  are  found  in 
animals  appear  most  clearly  in  domestic  animals.  It  would  not 
be  strange  if  animals  that  have  been  brought  under  the  influence 
of  man  should  catch  something  of  the  human  spirit  and  some 
elements  of  the  inner  life  which  they  could  not  have  originally 
in  themselves.  But  although  the  line  between  the  thought  of 
animals  and  human  thought  may  not  be  drawn  sharply,  it  cer- 
tainly is  sufficiently  marked  to  serve  our  purpose. 

We  will  assume,  then,  that  thinking  in  general  concepts  dis- 
tinguishes the  beginning  of  the  life  of  man  as  man.  Turn  again, 
now,  to  the  story  of  the  garden  of  Eden.  As  we  analyze  it  we  find 
that  whether  by  design  or  not  it  appears  to  deal  with  precisely 
this  moment  of  transition  from  thinking  in  pictures  to  thinking  in 
concepts.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  story  was  founded  upon  any 
theoretical  idea  of  human  nature.  I  mean  simply  that  if  the 
definition  of  the  beginning  of  human  life  which  has  been  given  is 
the  true  one,  and  if  there  is  to  be  a  picture  of  the  moment  of 
transition,  the  circumstances  which  are  related  in  the  story  are 
to  a  great  extent  those  which  would  naturally  arise  at  such  a 
moment.  Thus  the  story  may  be  taken  as  a  symbol  of  this  tran- 
sition, illustrating  concretely  certain  points  which  need  to  be 
emphasized. 

There  is  no  mark  which  more  distinguishes  thinking  in  concepts 
than  language.  The  possession  of  language  implies  thinking  in 
concepts.  If  we  exclude  exclamations  and  interjections,  as  only 
the  immediate  expression  of  momentary  feeling,  like  the  cries  of 
the  beast,  words  are  general  terms,  and  general  terms  imply  gen- 
eral concepts.  Therefore  we  find  it  only  natural  that  one  of  the 
first  acts  of  the  first  man  as  he  enters  upon  his  inheritance  is  to 
name  the  objects  around  him.  For  names  are  generic.  Even 
our  proper  names  which  in  present  usage  appear  to  form  an 
exception  are  originally  generic  terms,  the  family  name  standing 
for  the  group  or  the  clan,  and  the  individual  name  given  to  express 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  201 

some  peculiarity  or  relation  or  quality,  whether  actual  or  imag- 
ined, so  that  in  each  case  the  name  represents  some  classification 
of  one  sort  or  another. 

A  concept,  however,  is  a  limited  universal;  it  implies  two  ele- 
ments, a  universal  and  a  particular;  the  individual  is  recognized 
as  belonging  to  a  certain  class  and  thus  the  universal  and  the 
particular  are  brought  together.  But  the  very  fact  that  they  can 
be  thus  brought  together  implies  that  they  have  been  previously 
discriminated.  In  the  relation  of  the  animal  or  the  child  to  the 
external  world  all  this  is  latent,  but  in  the  man  the  process  becomes 
conscious,  and  in  bringing  together  the  universal  and  the  par- 
ticular he  recognizes  the  breach  between  them.  This  breach  may 
have  either  of  two  forms  according  as  attention  is  directed  to  one 
or  the  other  of  the  two  elements.  On  the  one  hand  man  thinks 
of  himself  as  an  individual,  and  in  so  doing  he  has  to  separate 
himself  from  the  class  to  which  he  belongs  and  from  the  universe 
of  which  he  is  a  part.  Thus  he  becomes  self-conscious.  In  this 
self-consciousness  the  man's  sense  of  separation  between  himself 
and  his  environment  may  become  extreme,  the  form  of  the  sepa- 
ration varying  according  to  the  view  which  the  man  happens  to 
take  of  himself.  Thus  we  have  that  sense  of  shame  in  which  the 
individual,  conscious  of  himself  as  over  against  the  universe  and 
feeling  that  he  is  the  centre  of  observation,  shrinks  from  this 
isolation  in  which  he  finds  himself, — an  isolation  which  is  still  a 
relation.  The  first  man  recognizes  his  nakedness  and  tries  to 
hide  himself;  the  individual  becomes  conscious  of  his  individu- 
ality and  shrinks  from  the  observation  to  which  he  feels  that  he 
is  open.  Here  we  have  the  beginning  of  some  of  the  greatest 
misery  in  life,  one  of  the  elements  that  may  contribute  most  to 
the  degradation  of  life;  self-consciousness  so  often  robs  what  is 
noble  of  its  nobility,  so  often  it  brings  unhappiness  and  pain. 
Yet  in  another  aspect  this  same  self-consciousness  enters  in  due 
proportion  into  all  that  goes  to  make  up  the  real  glory  of  living. 
For  after  all  it  is  the  element  of  self-consciousness  which  forms 
the  distinguishing  mark  of  man  and  is  the  centre  of  the  mystery 
of  life. 


202       THE  SENSE  OF  THE  SUPERNATURAL 

In  contrast,  however,  with  this  subjective  aspect  of  the  breach 
between  the  universal  and  the  individual,  there  is  a  second,  objec- 
tive aspect  in  which  the  universe  is  recognized  as  over  against 
the  individual.  This  recognition  appears  in  various  forms.  First 
of  all,  and  appearing  very  early  in  the  history  of  man,  there  is  the 
sense  of  the  supernatural,  the  consciousness  of  the  environment  as 
acting  immediately  upon  the  individual  without  the  intervention 
of  the  ordinary  agencies.  The  individual  recognizes  on  the  one 
hand  his  own  personality  and  on  the  other  the  divine  personality 
or  personalities.  Just  as  in  the  one  case  he  goes  behind  his  own 
phenomenal  existence  and  reaches  the  "  I, "  so  in  the  other  case  he 
goes  behind  the  phenomenal  manifestations  of  the  world  about 
him  and  reaches  the  power  that  is  within  and  behind  them  all. 
A  second  form  of  this  recognition  of  the  universal  element  is  found 
in  the  relation  of  the  individual  to  society  in  the  sense  of  justice. 
If  this  second  form  is  taken  together  with  the  first  we  have  the 
sense  of  justice,  human  and  divine,  the  sense  of  wrong  and  the 
sense  of  sin.  As  man  recognizes  the  voice  of  God  he  is  conscious 
of  his  own  guilt  and  estrangement,  and  in  his  sense  of  sin  there 
appears  the  absolute  breach  between  the  two  elements  that  stand 
in  relation  to  each  other.  The  individual  feels  himself  to  be  not 
only  over  against  the  universe  but  under  its  condemnation.  Lastly, 
the  recognition  of  the  universal  element  brings  with  it  the  thought 
of  death.  The  individual  realizes  that  he  is  only  a  point  flitting 
across  the  face  of  the  universe,  and  that  the  universe  can  exist 
without  him. 

It  is  interesting  to  notice  that,  so  far  as  we  can  know  or  con- 
jecture, man  is  the  only  being  in  the  world  that  has  the  conscious- 
ness of  mortality.  As  we  look  upon  the  life  of  beast  and  bird  we 
think  of  them  as  sharers  in  our  own  destiny.  But  man  is  in  a 
special  sense  mortal  in  that  he  knows  his  own  mortality.  The 
bird  and  the  beast  appear  to  have  no  consciousness  of  limit  in 
their  lives  except  as  it  may  be  shown  in  the  shrinking  from  death 
and  from  whatever  is  related  to  death.  Thus  there  is  terror 
among  them  sometimes  at  the  sight  of  blood.  Yet  if  the  animal 
really  knows  what  this  means,  it  can  at  most  regard  death  as  an 


THE    RECOGNITION    OF   THE    IDEAL  203 

accident  which  may  happen  to  it  but  which  also  may  be  avoided. 
Indeed  one  may  question  whether  at  the  very  first  man  himself 
does  not  consider  death  accidental;  at  least  if  he  thinks  of  it  as 
due  to  supernatural  interference,  he  may  believe  that  if  he  can 
avoid  this  interference  he  will  live  indefinitely. 

The  power  to  think  by  concepts,  however,  makes  possible  an 
ideal  element  in  life.  The  individual  does  not  rest  in  mere  ab- 
straction, but  having  received  his  concept  he  shapes  it  more  or 
less  to  suit  himself,  and  adds  to  that  which  he  has  found  to  be 
real  whatever  he  can  conceive  as  possible.  He  attempts  to  carry 
out  his  ideal  and  make  the  world  conform  to  it.  This  is  essential 
to  human  life,  for  man  has  been  placed  in  the  garden  of  the  world 
"to  dress  it  and  to  keep  it."  But  he  is  forced  to  see  that  the 
world  does  not  conform  to  his  ideal.  Obstacles  arise,  the  "  thorns  " 
and  the  "  thistles,"  which  may  have  existed  before,  but  which  man 
does  not  notice  until  they  seem  to  spring  up  in  opposition  to  his 
attempt  to  fulfil  his  ideal,  as  though  his  own  work  had  called 
them  forth.  Here  enters  for  the  first  time  the  possibility  of  pessi- 
mism and  even  of  absolute  despair.  Man's  conception  has  two 
stages,  first  the  abstract  idea,  and  then  the  ideal  which  he  creates 
out  of  his  own  longing  and  his  thought  of  what  is  possible.  He 
finds,  however,  that  the  world  does  not  fulfil  his  ideal,  and  as  he 
looks  further  he  sees  that  although  in  theory  his  ideal  is  possible 
of  fulfilment  yet  practically  it  is  not  possible.  Here  are  the  ele- 
ments of  the  philosophy  of  despair;  the  truth  that  has  been 
reached  by  processes  of  abstraction  from  the  external  world,  and 
the  ideal  which  one  conceives  as  theoretically  possible,  conflict 
absolutely.  Thus  the  power  to  think  by  concepts  introduces  not 
only  the  labor  of  life,  the  toil  that  comes  in  the  effort  to  fulfil 
one's  ideal,  but  also  the  sorrow  of  life,  as  man  discovers  that 
the  ideal  cannot  be  fulfilled.  Just  as  sin  is  possible  only  for  one 
who  thinks  by  concepts,  so  thinking  by  concepts  alone  makes 
possible  the  labor  and  sorrow  of  life.  I  do  not  mean  that  these 
results  follow  inevitably  from  thinking  by  concepts,  but  only  that 
they  could  not  be  produced  without  this  method  of  thought. 
The  question  whether  they  are  universal  among  men  does  not 


204  THE    SENSE    OF   THE    COMIC 

affect  our  position.  It  is  enough  that  given  these  peculiarities  of 
human  nature  and  of  human  activity,  thinking  by  concepts  is  seen 
to  be  necessary  to  produce  them. 

Thus  far  the  results  of  the  transition  from  thinking  in  pictures 
to  thinking  by  concepts  which  we  have  considered  have  been 
illustrated  or  symbolized  in  the  account  of  the  beginning  of  the 
life  of  man  that  is  given  in  the  Old  Testament  story.  We  have 
yet  to  consider  one  or  two  results  which  very  naturally  find  no 
illustration  there.  The  first  of  these  is  the  perception  of  the 
comic,  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  I  think  it  is  quite  safe  to  say 
that  man  is  the  only  creature  that  really  laughs.  When  we  speak 
of  the  laughter  of  the  hyena  or  the  horse  we  have  in  mind  only 
the  resemblance  between  certain  sounds  and  laughter.  It  has 
long  been  recognized  that  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous  arises  from 
the  perception  of  incongruities,  and  this  perception  of  the  incon- 
gruous, as  Schopenhauer  was,  I  think,  the  first  to  point  out,1 
comes  only  through  a  process  of  generalization.  We  are  moved  by 
certain  points  of  similarity  to  bring  together  under  a  general  head 
elements  which,  when  we  have  thus  brought  them  together,  we 
recognize  as  incongruous,  and  the  sharper  the  contrasts  between 
the  different  elements  the  greater  our  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  In 
other  words  there  is  absolutely  nothing  in  nature  that  is  comic, 
nothing,  that  is,  when  taken  by  itself  and  considered  apart  from 
any  process  of  generalization.  We  find  the  monkey  ludicrous, 
but  that  is  simply  because  the  monkey  suggests  so  obviously  the 
thought  of  a  very  peculiar  little  old  man;  the  monkey  is  not 
funny  in  himself.  The  most  superficial  form  of  the  ludicrous 
appears  in  the  pun.  Here  the  basis  of  our  generalization  is 
merely  a  word,  but  the  two  meanings  expressed  by  the  one  word 
are  so  incongruous  that  they  excite  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous. 
This  is  especially  the  case  when  some  pointed  relation  is  involved, 
such,  for  instance,  as  Life  has  chronicled  in  the  picture  of  the 
American  lady  in  Paris  who  asks  a  cabman  whether  he  is  fiance 
and  adds  that,  if  not,  she  will  take  him.     We  laugh;    and  we 

i  The  World  as  Will  and  Idea,  trans,  by  Haldane  and  Kemp,  Book  I,  §  13, 
and  "Supplements  to  the  First  Book,"  Chap.  VIII. 


THE    SENSE    OF    BEAUTY  205 

laugh  simply  because  we  possess  this  power  of  generalization 
which  man  may  use  or  misuse  to  his  misfortune  but  also  for  his 
sport. 

We  must  not  forget,  however,  that  with  the  exception  of  the 
mere  play  upon  words  there  is  hardly  anything  that  is  comic  which 
might  not  also  be  tragic,  just  as  there  is  nothing  tragic  which  might 
not  also  be  comic.  Both  the  tragedy  and  the  comedy  of  life  are 
found  in  the  perception  of  incongruities.  But  whereas  in  comedy 
these  incongruities  are  recognized  only  formally,  in  tragedy  they 
are  recognized  as  real.  We  see  this  very  clearly  in  certain  plays. 
Thus  in  Schiller's  Don  Carlos,  to  give  only  a  single  instance,  a 
love-letter  miscarries  and  is  given  to  the  wrong  person;  it  is  a 
situation  which  might  easily  be  ludicrous;  but  as  it  occurs  in  this 
play  we  feel  no  inclination  to  laugh,  because  we  recognize  the 
reality  and  seriousness  of  the  complications  that  are  involved. 
It  is  to  be  noticed  also  that  we  have  here  still  another  branch  of 
the  process  of  abstraction.  For  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous  arises 
not  only  first  of  all  from  the  process  of  generalization  by  which 
incongruous  elements  are  brought  together  under  a  general  head, 
but  also,  in  the  second  place,  from  the  process  of  abstraction 
carried  so  far  that  the  form  is  separated  from  the  substance.  The 
subject  is  one  that  suggests  a  great  many  questions  and  problems, 
some  of  which  are  most  interesting,  but  this  is  not  the  place  to 
consider  them.1 

The  last  of  these  results  of  thinking  by  concepts  that  I  shall 
mention  is  the  sense  of  beauty  as  shown  in  the  enjoyment  of  imi- 
tative art.  We  may  not  say  simply  art,  for,  as  we  have  already 
seen,2  both  decorative  art  and  a  certain  kind  of  esthetic  enjoy- 
ment are  found  in  the  lower  animals.  But  in  the  appreciation 
of  imitative  art  we  reach  a  process  of  abstraction  similar  to  that 
which  contributes  to  the  perception  of  the  comic, — the  separation 
of  the  real  from  the  formal.  An  animal  may  mistake  a  picture 
or  the  reflection  in  a  mirror  for  the  reality,  but  the  moment  that 
he  discovers  his  mistake  his  interest  in  the  reflection  or  the  picture 

1  A  fuller  discussion  may  be  found  in  Dr.  Everett's  Poetry,  Comedy  and  Duty. 
J  Pages  180-181. 


206  MAN   THE    ULTIMATE    PRODUCT 

is  gone;  he  is  interested  only  in  things  as  things.  Man,  on  the 
other  hand,  as  far  back  as  we  can  trace  his  history,  shows  an 
interest  in  the  appearance  apart  from  the  reality.  This  demands 
thought  by  concepts,  the  power  not  only  of  abstraction  but  of 
very  delicate  and  careful  abstraction.  It  implies  the  faculty  of 
ideal  contemplation,  the  enjoyment  of  a  thing  not  merely  as  a 
reality  but  as  an  idea.  The  nearest  approach  to  this  in  the  lower 
animals  appears  in  their  fondness  for  play.  Even  the  industrious 
ant  will  play  at  the  close  of  the  day's  work.  Dogs  love  to  play, 
and  they  imitate  in  their  play  the  methods  of  the  chase.  Here  is 
unquestionably  the  beginning  of  the  power  of  abstraction.  First 
there  is  an  overflow  of  energy;  energy  and  nervous  force  have 
accumulated  and  must  find  a  vent,  and  they  overflow  along  the 
nervous  lines  that  are  most  active  in  the  life  of  the  animals;  with 
this  comes  a  certain  imitation,  and  thus  we  have  the  beginning 
of  the  power  of  abstraction.  But  since  it  is  manifested  not  in 
contemplation  but  in  activity,  since  it  is  activity  and  not  contem- 
plation that  gives  pleasure,  it  is  low  down  in  the  scale  and  serves 
chiefly  as  one  of  the  indications  that  the  line  of  demarcation  is  not 
sharply  drawn. 

Except  in  one  point  the  story  in  Genesis  gives  little  if  any  hint 
of  the  great  superiority  of  humanity  which  so  many  have  found 
in  it.  There  is  certainly  a  charm  in  the  picture  of  this  earthly 
paradise,  with  its  freedom  from  self-consciousness  and  labor.  It 
is  like  the  charm  still  to  be  found  in  the  comparatively  innocent 
life  of  some  of  the  southern  islands  where  the  complexities  of 
civilization  have  not  entered.  But  the  transition  must  be  made 
from  this  moment  of  the  childhood  of  the  race,  and  in  such  tran- 
sition there  is  always  peril.  A  little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous 
thing,  and  so  is  a  little  freedom.  The  beginnings  of  all  the  higher 
forms  of  life  are  perilous.  Now  there  is  in  the  story  in  Genesis 
one  element  which  gives  promise  of  safety  in  the  transition  and 
which  does  exalt  the  hero  of  the  story.  Man,  it  is  said  [in  the 
first  chapter  of  Genesis,  a  different  account  from  that  of  the 
second  and  third  chapters,  but  combined  with  it,  we  may  assume, 
in  the  later  Hebrew  conception],  is  made  in  the  image  of  God. 


MAN    THE    ULTIMATE    PRODUCT  207 

The  whole  story  is  here  lifted  to  a  height  which  otherwise  is  not 
attained.  The  precise  significance  of  the  phrase  is  hardly  to  be 
determined,  but  it  is  one  of  those  great  words  which  admit  un- 
limited development  in  human  thought.  The  term  "  image  of 
God"  has  led  to  theologies  in  which  man  is  conceived  as  at  the 
first  perfect.  But  this  pushes  the  story  too  far.  For  granting 
to  the  first  parents  of  the  race  such  perfection  as  we  may,  this 
perfection  must  still  be  infinitely  removed  from  the  divine  perfec- 
tion. No  perfection  in  man  could  make  him  equal  to  God,  any 
more  than  any  imperfection  in  man  could  absolutely  separate  him 
from  God.  The  resemblance  between  God  and  man  must  be 
found  in  something  which  both  possess.  When  we  speak  of  a 
child  as  resembling  its  father,  we  do  not  mean  that  the  child  has 
the  strength  or  the  wisdom  of  the  father,  but  simply  that  there  is 
in  the  child  some  beginning  or  germ  or  hint  of  the  qualities  of 
the  father.  Now  we  have  seen  how  from  the  very  first  the  ideal 
element  has  controlled  the  history  of  the  world,  how  the  growth 
and  tendency  of  the  wTorld  have  been  from  the  very  first  toward 
spirit.  In  man  we  reach  at  last  the  actual  appearance  of  this  spirit- 
ual life.  There  is  a  consciousness  of  self,  there  is  a  consciousness, 
however  vague  and  distorted,  of  the  author  of  life,  there  are 
glimpses  of  the  divine  ideas  that  hover  before  man  as  ideals.  The 
difference  between  man  and  God  is  still  infinite.  Yet  in  so  far 
as  there  is  found  in  man  the  germ  of  the  spiritual  life,  the  con- 
sciousness of  himself  and  of  the  world  about  him  by  which  he  is 
enabled  to  enter  into  communion  with  the  source  of  his  being,  in 
so  far  may  it  be  said  that  man  is  made  in  the  image  of  God.  The 
thought  may  be  at  the  outset  anthropomorphic,  but  even  so  it  is 
the  recognition  of  a  fact  that  becomes  clearer  as  the  world  de- 
velops, and  larger  as  human  life  itself  grows  larger. 

In  saying  this,  however,  are  we  not  speaking  extravagantly  ? 
Is  it  not  possible  that  man  may  give  place  on  the  earth  to  some 
still  higher  product  of  evolution,  and  that  a  race  of  beings  may 
appear  as  superior  to  man  as  man  is  superior  to  the  lower  animals  ? 
From  what  has  been  said  already  it  must  seem  obvious  that  this 
is  impossible.     The  considerations  that  I  have  brought  forward 


208  MAN    THE    ULTIMATE    PRODUCT 

justify  us  in  assuming  that  man  is  the  highest  and  ultimate  prod- 
uct in  the  process  of  development.  For  in  the  first  place  man 
is  capable  of  indefinite  or  even  infinite  progress  without  specific 
change  of  form,  and  this  through  his  power  to  think  by  concepts, 
and  to  use  the  results  which  follow  upon  thinking  by  concepts. 
Ever  since  the  time  when  the  results  that  had  been  reached  by 
his  ancestors  came  to  be  worth  recording,  he  has  been  able  to 
hold  results.  There  is  therefore  practically  no  limit  to  the  in- 
tellectual development  of  man  as  man.  The  brain  responds  to 
the  demands  which  are  made  upon  it,  and  grows  in  power  from 
generation  to  generation.  Furthermore,  if  we  consider  the  ques- 
tion from  the  physical  point  of  view,  we  find  confirmation  in  the 
fact  that  man  is  a  tool-using  animal.  As  soon  as  man  begins  to 
use  tools  he  enters  upon  a  career  of  indefinite  progress.  For  if  a 
successor  is  to  drive  him  from  the  earth  and  take  his  place,  that 
successor  must  be  in  one  way  or  another  the  superior  of  man; 
either  he  must  possess  intellectual  power  greater  than  man's,  or 
else  he  must  be  physically  mightier.  But  man  has  a  power  of 
thought  which  is  capable  of  indefinite  development,  and  his  arm 
has  become  strong  not  only  through  the  use  of  tools  but  through 
the  very  forces  of  nature,  for  he  has  made  the  elements  his  servants. 
Any  successor  who  by  the  process  of  natural  selection  is  to  drive 
out  man  not  only  must  be  wiser  than  man  can  become,  but  he 
must  be  stronger  than  steam,  swifter  than  the  steam  engine  or 
the  electrical  engine,  swifter  and  stronger  than  all  the  powers  of 
nature  which  man  can  subject  to  his  own  use. 

Finally,  when  we  look  at  the  lower  animals  we  see  that  in  order 
to  reach  a  higher  degree  of  development  they  must  transcend 
themselves.  They  do  not  possess  either  the  power  of  thought  or 
the  power  of  activity  which  would  make  it  possible  for  them  to 
advance  without  such  change.  Without  the  hand,  for  instance, 
the  power  of  thought  would  be  useless,  just  as  without  the  hand 
it  could  not  have  been  developed.  For  the  mental  power  does 
not  develop  apart  by  itself,  but  is  developed  largely  through  the 
varied  forms  of  relation  to  the  external  world  into  which  the  in- 
dividual is  brought.     A  power  of  adaptation  is  demanded,  a  power 


MAN   THE    ULTIMATE    PRODUCT  209 

of  use,  a  power  to  take  to  pieces  and  to  put  together  again.  In 
other  words  there  must  be  the  power  of  touch  and  the  power  of 
adjustment,  both  carried  to  a  high  degree  of  perfection.  We  do 
not  reach  the  highest  possibility  of  thought  so  long  as  we  merely 
contemplate  the  world  about  us.  It  comes  as  we  give  to  things 
new  relations  and  put  them  to  new  uses.  Man  alone  possesses  the 
possibility  of  infinite  development  without  change  of  structure, 
and  by  the  law  of  parsimony  in  nature  any  further  growth  must 
tend  to  lie  along  the  line  of  least  resistance.  The  suggestion  has 
been  made  that  a  race  of  winged  beings  might  have  an  advantage 
over  man.  It  is  to  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  develop- 
ment of  animal  life  always  has  been  along  certain  lines;  organs 
are  produced  from  corresponding  organs,  and  arms  take  the 
place  of  wings,  and  wings  take  the  place  of  arms.  Since  man 
is  as  yet  the  highest  product  in  the  process  of  development,  any 
higher  being,  if  it  is  to  come,  must  be  developed  from  man,  and 
if  it  is  to  be  winged  the  wings  must  in  some  way  take  the  place  of 
arms.     But  the  winged  being  is  weaker  than  the  being  with  arms. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  SECOND  STAGE  IN  THE  MOMENT  OF  NEGATION  I    THE  DOCTRINE 

OF      FREEDOM. REAL      FREEDOM:         AUTOMATISM:  REFLEX 

ACTION. — FORMAL  FREEDOM,  OR  FREEDOM  OF  THE  WILL. — THE 
ARGUMENTS  AGAINST  IT:  THE  A  PRIORI  ARGUMENT:  THE  A 
POSTERIORI  ARGUMENT:  THE  SO-CALLED  PRACTICAL  ARGU- 
MENT.— THE  ARGUMENTS  IN  FAVOR  OF  IT:  AS  BASED  ON 
DIRECT  SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS:  AS  BASED  ON  THE  MORAL 
CONSCIOUSNESS. 

We  have  been  considering  the  first  stage  in  the  moment  of 
negation,1  the  stage  of  difference,  or,  speaking  more  concretely, 
the  doctrine  of  creation,  in  which  the  creation  appears  as  other 
than  the  creator.  We  pass  now  to  the  second  stage,  the  doctrine 
of  freedom,  the  recognition  on  the  part  of  the  creation  not  only 
that  it  is  other  than  the  creator  but  that  it  has  a  life  of  its  own, 
that  it  is  free  and  independent.  There  are  two  forms  of  freedom, 
of  which  the  first  has  been  called  real,  the  second  formal.  These 
terms  have  no  special  fitness,  but  we  will  use  them  because  they 
are  already  in  use.  By  real  freedom  is  meant  freedom  in  one's 
self,  the  power  of  fulfilling  one's  own  nature  unhampered  from 
without.  Formal  freedom,  more  commonly  known  as  freedom  of 
the  will,  is  freedom  over  one's  self.  The  first  form  does  not 
imply  the  second. 

Real  freedom  is  found  in  nearly  all  stages  of  existence.  Thus 
a  stone  is  free  when  it  follows  the  law  of  its  nature  in  the  mutual 
attraction  between  its  own  particles  and  the  earth;  it  is  free  in 
falling;  if  it  is  thrown,  its  freedom  is  impaired.  In  the  organic 
world  this  freedom  appears  in  a  higher  and  more  significant  form. 
One  element  in  the  activity  of  the  stone  is  outside  of  itself.     The 

i  Page  105. 


REAL  FREEDOM:  AUTOMATISM         211 

organism  is  more  truly  a  unity.  The  action  and  reaction  which 
take  place  are  within  itself,  and  its  many  elements  work  together 
to  one  end.  It  accomplishes  this  end  in  proportion  as  it  is  free. 
A  still  higher  form  of  real  freedom  is  found  when  we  come  to  the 
mental  or  spiritual  world.  Some  even  use  the  term  "freedom" 
for  the  first  time  at  this  point,  in  order  to  mark  the  difference 
between  conscious  and  unconscious  being.  For  the  mind  is  not 
merely  a  unit  but  a  conscious  unit.  The  man  knows  what  he  is 
going  to  do  and  consciously  guides  himself  toward  it,  and  even 
if  we  allowed  to  the  man  no  more  freedom  than  we  allow  to  the 
plant,  yet  the  fact  that  the  man  works  in  the  light  and  the  plant 
in  the  darkness  makes  an  immense  difference. 

Is  this  freedom  really  spiritual,  or  is  it  material  ?  Huxley  and 
Clifford  and  others  have  urged  that  consciousness  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  activities  of  life,  and  although  Spencer  does  not  quite 
assent  to  this,  it  would  seem  to  follow  naturally  from  his  general 
theory  of  consciousness.  It  is  interesting  to  notice  in  passing 
that  this  is  precisely  the  position  that  is  taken  in  the  Sankhya 
philosophy,  where  consciousness  is  represented  as  merely  a  spec- 
tator. Clifford  compares  the  light  of  consciousness  to  the  head- 
light of  a  locomotive  that  only  illuminates  the  track  which  after 
all  guides  the  locomotive.  Are  we  to  accept  this  ?  Or  is  the  light 
of  consciousness  rather  like  the  lantern  which  a  man  carries  in 
his  hand  in  order  that  he  may  choose  his  way  ?  To  the  objection 
that  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  that  mind  should  influence  matter, 
Professor  James  replies  that  it  is  impossible  to  comprehend  any 
causation,  but  that  it  is  incredible  that  a  fact  in  consciousness 
should  be  the  only  fact  out  of  relation  with  other  things  in  the 
universe.1 

The  chief  argument,  however,  in  support  of  the  automaton 
theory  is  found  in  the  fact  that  certain  results  which  in  man  are 
regarded  as  ordinarily  produced  consciously,  are  under  some 
circumstances  produced  unconsciously;  frequently  in  the  lower 
forms  of  life,  and  sometimes  in  the  higher  forms,  processes  of 
reflex  action  take  place  apparently  without  consciousness.  Thus 
1  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I,  Chap.  V. 


212  REFLEX    ACTION 

if  we  take  away  the  brain  of  a  frog  he  will  continue  to  respond  to 
irritation  as  readily  as  though  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  and  the 
same  thing  is  even  more  strikingly  illustrated  in  human  life,  for 
if  bv  some  lesion  of  the  nerves  a  man's  leg  becomes  separated  from 
the  brain  in  such  a  way  that  there  is  no  consciousness  of  any  feeling 
in  the  leg,  it  will  still  respond  to  irritation,  and  more  violently 
than  under  conditions  of  consciousness.  Again,  there  are  instances 
of  somnambulism  where  the  most  complicated  acts  are  carried 
through  of  which  the  individual  on  waking  has  no  recollection. 
Now  if  the  response  is  unconscious  under  circumstances  of  this 
kind,  why  may  it  not  be  always  unconscious  ?  Why  need  we 
suppose  that  consciousness  is  anything  more  than  an  accident  in 
the  whole  process  ? 

This  argument,  however,  can  be  made  to  level  upward  as  well 
as  downward.  So  far  as  our  knowledge  extends  we  find  that 
these  responses  are  accompanied  by  consciousness.  Why,  then, 
may  we  not  assume  that  consciousness  is  present  in  the  cases  where 
our  knowledge  does  not  extend?  Obviously  our  consciousness 
does  not  extend  beyond  itself,  and  we  know  only  what  we  are 
conscious  of;  the  region  of  which  we  are  not  conscious,  and  from 
which  we  have  no  direct  report  through  any  conscious  individ- 
ual, is  for  us  an  unknown  land.  But  it  may  be  maintained  with 
great  plausibility  that  a  certain  amount  of  consciousness  is  con- 
nected with  every  act  and  that  no  response  is  without  it.  Even 
in  our  human  organism  it  may  be  assumed  that  there  is  a  certain 
sub-consciousness  in  every  nerve  centre,  every  ganglion,  although 
these  lower  grades  of  consciousness  are  lost  in  the  fuller  con- 
sciousness of  the  great  centre  ganglion,  just  as  the  light  of  the 
stars  is  lost  in  the  light  of  the  sun  at  noon.  This  position  is  taken 
by  Wundt  and  other  physiologists.  So  far  as  somnambulism  is 
concerned,  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  there  is  no  con- 
sciousness of  what  is  taking  place  simply  because  the  individual 
does  not  remember  what  he  has  done.  Here,  as  in  the  dreams 
that  we  forget  as  soon  as  we  awake,  the  lower  ganglia  have  as- 
serted themselves. 

The  two  arguments,  the  argument  that  denies  the  necessity 


REFLEX   ACTION  213 

of  consciousness  and  the  argument  that  affirms  its  universality, 
may  be  left  to  contradict  each  other.  A  more  positive  argument, 
however,  according  to  Professor  James,  is  furnished  by  natural 
selection.  It  is  often  said  by  evolutionists  that  if  the  more  use- 
ful activities  were  not  healthful,  the  creature  could  not  live,  and 
the  fact  that  the  pleasure  of  feeling  is  connected  with  its  useful 
activities  has  been  a  great  aid  in  preserving  organisms,  while  a 
lack  of  this  correspondence  between  pleasure  of  feeling  and 
activity  would  tend  to  destroy  the  organisms.  The  theories  of 
Huxley  and  Clifford  and  of  Spencer  would  eliminate  all  this, 
and  would  make  of  consciousness  only  so  much  waste.  But  the 
power  of  any  organism  increases  with  the  increase  in  intellect. 
Furthermore,  Professor  James  holds  that  consciousness  gives 
stability  to  the  brain  and  increases  its  efficiency,  through  interest. 
The  combinations  of  brain  molecules  are  extremely  liable  to  dis- 
turbance, so  that  there  is  a  tendency  in  the  brain  to  continual 
unrest.  Consciousness  weights  certain  combinations  and  gives 
them  an  advantage,  and  thus  the  mind  is  not  left  to  fluctuate, 
but  has  kept  before  it  useful  ends. 

Reflex  action  in  the  more  highly  organized  beings,  so  far  as  we 
can  observe  it,  appears  to  be  of  three  kinds.  The  first  form  I 
will  call  absolute  and  unqualified,  the  second  may  be  called 
qualified,  while  the  third  form  is  accompanied  by  consciousness 
and  apparently  is  caused  by  consciousness.  The  first  form,  that 
which  I  have  called  absolute  reflex  action,  appears  never  to  have 
been  accompanied  by  consciousness.  Thus  we  do  not  know  of 
any  form  of  organism  in  which  the  beating  of  the  heart  is  caused 
by  conscious  will,  and  the  same  is  true  of  the  other  essential 
processes  of  life,  those  processes  without  which  life  itself  could 
not  be  continued  for  a  moment.  If  any  consciousness  has  ever 
accompanied  these  processes,  it  must  have  been  some  form  of 
that  sub-consciousness  to  which  I  have  already  referred.  At 
the  last  they  are  maintained  through  natural  selection.  The 
animal  in  which  the  beating  of  the  heart  was  dependent  upon 
the  will  would  very  soon  pass  out  of  existence.  In  disease  we 
become  conscious  of  some  of  these  processes,  and  under  some 


214  REFLEX    ACTION 

circumstances  they  may  be  in  a  certain  sense  caused  by  our  wills. 
Thus  we  can  control  the  breath  to  some  extent.  But  we  breathe 
when  we  do  not  will  to  breathe,  and  no  one,  so  far  as  we  know, 
has  ever  put  an  end  to  his  life  by  voluntarily  ceasing  to  breathe. 

The  qualified  forms  of  reflex  action  are  those  of  which  we  know 
the  history,  those  which  were  originally  accompanied  by  con- 
sciousness but  through  long  continued  habit  have  come  at  last 
to  be  performed  unconsciously.  There  are  a  good  many  things 
that  we  do  without  needing  to  think  that  we  are  doing  them. 
A  woman  knits  without  looking  at  her  needles.  A  pianist  plays 
with  no  conscious  selection  of  the  keys.  It  is  a  happy  circum- 
stance in  life  that  this  is  so, — that  what  is  old  may  come  to  be 
habitual  and  leave  the  mind  free  for  what  is  new.  If  we  had  to 
be  thinking  all  the  time  of  what  we  have  to  do  in  the  little,  famil- 
iar activities,  what  space  would  be  left  in  our  thought  for  the 
greater  things  ?  There  are  many  mechanical  processes  in  which 
the  first  direction  to  be  given  is  that  we  should  observe  what  we 
are  doing,  and  the  second,  that  we  should  forget  what  we  are 
doing. 

Finally  there  are  the  forms  that  are  fully  and  absolutely  con- 
scious. It  is  pure  assumption  to  maintain  that  action  in  these 
forms  can  be  carried  out  without  consciousness.  I  make  a  wide 
detour  in  order  to  avoid  meeting  some  man  whom  I  dislike.  To 
say  that  I  can  thus  avoid  him  unconsciously,  implies  a  very  com- 
plicated theory  according  to  which  every  man  is  supposed  to  have 
his  "sphere,'*  and  when  my  sphere  approaches  the  other  man's 
sphere  or  comes  in  contact  with  it,  a  repulsion  is  felt.  The  the- 
ory offers  no  explanation  of  the  change  from  unfriendly  to  friendly 
relations  which  often  occurs  in  such  cases.  Again  I  read  in  some 
book  a  discussion  of  the  theory  of  consciousness  and  am  prompted 
to  talk  about  it  here.  What  effect  could  the  letters  have  in  con- 
trolling my  activity  except  through  the  medium  of  consciousness  ? 
The  theory  of  automatism  seems  to  be  the  reductio  ad  absurdum 
of  the  attempt  to  explain  the  world  from  the  point  of  view  of  mere 
materialism. 

As  regards  real  freedom  itself,  apart  from  this  question  as  to 


FREEDOM    OF   THE    WILL  215 

the  relation  between  consciousness  and  action,  there  is  no  differ- 
ence of  opinion.  No  one  disputes  its  existence  in  the  world.  A 
man  is  really  free  when  he  can  go  and  come  as  he  wills  without 
hindrance;  he  is  not  free  when  he  is  shut  up  inside  a  prison. 
But  what  of  this  other  form  of  freedom,  this  formal  freedom,  the 
freedom  of  the  will  ?  What  is  meant  by  it  ?  It  affirms  that  "  I 
will  what  I  will."  But  who  denies  this?  It  is  mere  tautology, 
and  I  may  as  well  say,  "I  go  where  I  go,"  or  "I  think  what  I 
think."  I  may  try  to  make  the  statement  more  definite  by  say- 
ing that  "I  determine  what  I  will."  But  this  only  throws  the 
difficulty  further  back.  For  if  "determination"  in  this  connec- 
tion means  anything,  it  means  will.  Therefore  there  is  an  act 
of  will  behind  the  will,  and  behind  this  act  of  will  still  another 
will,  and  so  on  in  an  infinite  retrogression,  in  which  at  last  the 
free  will  is  barred  out  of  the  existence  of  the  individual  in  time  and 
finds  its  place  only  before  that  existence. 

It  is  interesting  to  notice  that  whereas  Jonathan  Edwards  in 
reaching  this  result  regards  it  as  a  reductio  ad  absurdum  which 
settles  the  whole  question,  some  other  writers  accept  it  as  the 
explanation  of  freedom  of  the  will.  Thus  Schelling  l  holds  that 
each  life  is  colored  and  controlled  by  a  determination  that  took 
place  before  the  existence  in  time  began,  and  Julius  Muller 2 
takes  the  same  position,  recognizing  an  act  of  will  that  colors  our 
existence  at  the  very  beginning  of  our  individual  lives.  Fichte 
also  appears  to  take  a  somewhat  similar  view,  although  he  does 
not  state  it  so  distinctly  as  Schelling.  With  Kant  it  is  a  noumenal 
act  in  contrast  with  the  phenomenal  life  of  the  world. 

If,  however,  we  leave  out  of  the  account  these  determinations 
outside  of  time,  our  difficulty  remains  the  same.  How  is  it  pos- 
sible to  accede  to  a  proposition  which  cannot  be  even  formulated  ? 
It  is  true  that  we  may  recognize  a  meaning  in  it,  even  though  we 
have  no  language  at  our  command  to  express  the  meaning.  Prac- 
tically, the  question  that  we  have  to  ask  is  whether,  supposing 
that  all  the  circumstances  except  a  man's  act  of  will  remained 
i  F.  W.  J.  Schelling,  Philosophische  Schriften. 
2  Die  Christliche  Lehre  von  der  S'unde. 


216  FREEDOM    OF   THE   WILL 

just  as  before,  the  man  could  do  differently.  Furthermore,  the 
evolutionist  might  insist  that  the  confusion  has  been  introduced 
by  the  necessitarian,  who  has  degraded  the  term  "will"  to  his 
own  use.  Yet  the  necessitarian  would  reply  that  he  believes  in 
freedom,  and  certainly  there  is  no  grander  statement  of  free- 
dom than  that  of  Spinoza,  who  believes  only  in  real  freedom.  We 
still  must  acknowledge  the  difficulty  so  far  at  least  as  terms  are 
concerned. 

The  world  is  full  of  books  on  freedom  of  the  will.  Jonathan 
Edwards'  great  treatise  is  of  course  the  classic  presentation  of  de- 
terminism. Buckle  in  his  History  of  Civilization  in  England J 
gives  the  statistics  that  bear  upon  the  question.  Martineau  has 
an  interesting  discussion  of  it  in  his  Study  of  Religion.  Ward's 
Philosophy  of  Theism2  is  especially  interesting  because  of  the 
discussion  with  Mill  into  which  he  enters  and  the  pertinence  of 
what  he  says.  Alexander  von  Oettingen,  in  his  Moralstatistik 
offers  a  classification  in  which  those  who  deny  freedom  of  the  will 
are  described  as  determinists,  naturalists  and  objectivists,  while 
those  who  affirm  it  are  termed  indifferentists,  atomists  and  sub- 
jectivists.3  Those  who  believe  only  in  real  freedom  and  deny 
freedom  of  the  will  are  called  determinists  because  everything  is 
fixed  for  them  in  advance.  Given  the  organism  and  the  environ- 
ment, the  result  is  certain  and  it  is  possible  to  predict  absolutely 
what  will  take  place.  Thus  if  a  rose-bush  is  planted  in  favorable 
soil,  we  know  that  it  will  produce  roses,  and  similarly,  to  the  de- 
terminists, all  human  activity  is  determined  in  advance.  This 
same  class  are  called  naturalists  because  man,  like  a  plant  or  a 
stone,  is  regarded  as  simply  filling  a  certain  place  in  nature;  and 
just  as  there  can  be  a  natural  history  of  a  plant,  or  of  one  of  the 
lower  animals,  so  there  can  be  a  natural  history  of  man.  They 
are  called  objectivists  because  man  is  regarded  as  merely  an  object, 
with  no  interior  life  that  may  by  freedom  of  action  change  his 
nature;  he  is  a  product  of  his  environment,  and  if  he  reacts  upon 
the  environment,  it  is  only  in  such  activity  as  the  environment 

i  Vol.  I,  Chap.  I.  2  W.  G.  Ward,  Essays  on  the  Philosophy  of  Theism. 

3  Die  Moralstatistik  in  ihrer  Bedeutung  fur  eine  christliche  Socialethik,  pp.  733  f . 


FREEDOM    OF   THE   WILL  217 

has  fitted  him  to  use.  On  the  other  hand  those  who  affirm  the 
freedom  of  the  will  are  called  indifferentists  because  in  the  extreme 
view  man  is  regarded  as  wholly  indifferent  in  advance  as  to  the 
course  that  he  will  take,  and  it  is  impossible  to  predict  what  he 
will  do.  They  are  called  atomists  because  each  individual  is 
regarded,  so  far  as  concerns  his  will,  not  as  part  of  a  great  whole, 
but  as  an  independent  centre  of  activity,  a  law  unto  himself. 
Indeed  we  might  add  to  Von  Oettingen's  list  the  term  separatists,  for 
each  individual  is  as  truly  apart  from  the  universe,  according  to 
this  view,  as  though  he  lived  in  a  world  of  his  own.  Finally  those 
who  affirm  the  freedom  of  the  will  are  called  subjectivists  because 
their  action  is  determined  wholly  from  within.  Both  of  the  views 
that  Von  Oettingen  describes  in  this  way  are  extreme  and  are 
recognized  as  such  by  Von  Oettingen  himself.  Mill  would  not 
allow  himself  to  be  called  a  determinist  because  the  term  implied 
causation  from  without  as  opposed  to  the  theory  of  causation  that 
he  derived  from  Hume  as  the  invariable  sequence  of  one  event 
upon  another. 

Many  deny  both  of  these  extreme  views,  and  adopt  a  medium 
position  in  which  they  speak  of  liberty  under  law.  We  may  find 
that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  this  liberty  under  law,  but  as  the  ex- 
pression is  ordinarily  used  it  seems  to  me  utterly  meaningless. 
It  appears  to  assume  that  the  mere  collocation  of  two  contradictory 
terms  is  to  be  regarded  as  an  explanation  of  the  difficulty  involved. 
It  is  a  little  as  though  we  were  trying  to  reconcile  the  circle  and 
the  square,  and  finally  were  to  say  that  we  had  a  square-circle. 
At  the  same  time  we  have  to  recognize  that  this  mingling  of  the 
two  elements  is  something  which  we  are  to  seek. 

Of  the  various  arguments  against  freedom  of  the  will  the  first 
that  I  shall  consider  is  the  a  priori  argument,  based  upon  the 
principle  of  causation.  We  recognize  this  principle  as  absolute. 
But  the  theory  of  formal  freedom,  it  is  argued,  the  theory  of  the 
undetermined  freedom  of  the  will,  disregards  the  law  of  causa- 
tion. It  assumes  that  the  spirit  stands  as  it  were  at  a  place  where 
the  roads  separate,  and  makes  its  choice  not  as  some  cause  may 
determine  but  by   its   own   spontaneous  act.     The  argument  is 


218  FREEDOM    OF   THE    WILL 

used  largely  as  an  argumentum  ad  hominem.  For  those  who 
affirm  the  freedom  of  the  will  are  apt  to  be  those  who  hold  most 
strongly  to  the  a  priori  necessity  of  the  law  of  causation.  Our 
beliefs  seldom  hold  together  logically,  but  rather  grow  out  of 
certain  tendencies  of  our  minds.  Thus  it  is  the  Calvinist,  taking 
the  darkest  view  of  the  future  for  those  who  die  unrepentant, 
who  more  often  believes  in  capital  punishment,  while  the  Univer- 
salis!, with  his  optimistic  expectation  for  all  men,  more  often 
opposes  it.  Each  might  accuse  the  other  of  inconsistency,  but 
the  course  that  is  taken  in  either  case  is  evidently  the  result  of 
general  mental  tendencies.  In  a  similar  way  those  who  insist 
most  strongly  upon  the  a  priori  nature  of  the  principle  of  causa- 
tion are  apt  to  be  those  who  most  dignify  the  human  mind  and 
spirit,  and  so  affirm  most  strongly  the  freedom  of  the  will,  whereas 
those  who  deny  freedom  of  the  will  make  comparatively  little 
use  of  the  a  priori  nature  of  the  principle  of  causation.  Edwards, 
however,  is  an  exception;  he  used  the  argument  more  earnestly. 
Hamilton  attempted  to  avoid  the  difficulty  by  assuming  that  our 
belief  in  causation  results  from  our  mental  incompetence,  that  a 
beginning  is  something  of  which  we  cannot  conceive.  Of  course, 
if  we  regard  the  belief  in  causation  as  the  result  of  mental  incom- 
petence, we  need  not  be  troubled  at  the  conflict  between  it  and 
the  belief  in  freedom  of  the  will.  But  this  theory  has  found  little 
acceptance  outside  the  circle  of  Hamilton's  more  immediate  fol- 
lowers. It  rests  some  of  our  most  positive  assumptions  upon  a 
strongly  negative  basis.  Mill  would  deny  both  necessity  and 
freedom,  and  would  recognize  only  the  law  of  uniformity  of  se- 
quence; but  this  uniformity  is  never  broken  and  therefore  is 
practically  equivalent  to  a  necessity,  even  though  Mill  does  not 
recognize  it  as  such. 

I  shall  consider  this  difficulty  more  fully  a  little  later,  but  there 
are  one  or  two  considerations  that  it  may  be  well  to  suggest  here. 
The  difficulty  is  based  upon  the  absoluteness  of  the  law  of  causa- 
tion. But  this  law  of  causation  is  not  the  mere  uniformity  of 
sequence  of  which  Mill  tells  us,  but  an  inner  relation  by  which 
all  things  are  bound  together  in  a  common  whole.     In  other  words, 


FREEDOM    OF   THE    WILL  219 

the  law  of  causation,  translated  into  more  abstract  form,  is  the 
principle  of  absolute  unity.1  Now  if  we  take  our  idea  of  unity 
from  spiritual  rather  than  material  sources,  we  may  break  some- 
what the  force  of  the  argument  that  we  are  considering.  For  if 
we  assume  that  freedom  in  the  sense  in  which  we  are  now  regard- 
ing it  is  an  attribute  of  spirit,  and  that  the  unity  in  which  all  things 
consist  is  a  spiritual  unity,  then  we  should  expect  that  this  spiritual 
unity  would  manifest  itself  in  acts  of  freedom,  and  that  freedom, 
as  we  find  it,  would  not  be  inconsistent  with  the  principle  of  unity, 
because  it  is  akin  to  it  and  in  a  certain  sense  one  with  it.  But 
if  we  assume  a  unity  that  at  once  breaks  itself  up  into  points  of 
independent  volition,  is  not  such  a  unity  a  contradiction  in  terms  ? 
This  question,  however,  we  may  consider  to  better  advantage 
later,  when  we  know  more  fully  what  freedom  is  and  how  it  is 
exerted. 

Certainly,  whatever  our  intellectual  theories  may  be,  we  always 
do  seek  a  cause  for  every  event  and  for  every  act  of  the  will. 
Whether  formalist  or  realist,  we  ask  what  has  made  a  man  do 
thus  or  so.  We  recognize  that  there  is  no  act  of  the  will  without 
some  motive,  that  a  man  never  acts  without  a  reason.  In  other 
words,  the  mind  will  not  act  in  vacuo.  In  accepting  this,  those 
who  affirm  the  freedom  of  the  will  say  that  the  will  chooses  be- 
tween motives.  They  thus  reduce  the  difficulty  to  a  minimum, 
but  they  do  not  remove  it.  For  the  question,  how  the  mind  de- 
termines which  motive  it  will  follow,  is  still  left  undecided.  There 
is  still  an  unexplained  residuum,  an  act  of  the  will  that  is  not 
accounted  for.  The  objection  may  be  made  that  in  the  choice 
between  motives  the  mind  might  remain  balanced,  unable  to 
move  in  one  direction  or  the  other.  Practically,  however,  this 
seldom,  if  ever,  occurs.  There  are,  of  course,  persons  who  always 
find  it  difficult  to  make  up  their  minds,  and  we  are  all  of  us  some- 
times perplexed  as  to  what  decision  we  ought  to  make.  Yet  when 
the  moment  arrives  at  which  we  must  decide,  we  do  make  up  our 
minds  in  one  way  or  the  other.  As  we  walk  across  the  Cambridge 
Common,  what  reason  is  there  for  taking  the  path  to  the  right 

1  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  163. 


220  FREEDOM    OF    THE    WILL 

or  the  path  to  the  left  ?  Yet,  when  we  have  to  choose,  we  choose. 
The  mind  is  never  absolutely  balanced,  because  it  is  so  concrete ; 
so  many  elements  enter  into  it  that  an  absolute  balance  would  be 
impossible;  only  a  vacant  mind  could  be  thus  balanced.  The 
classic  illustration  of  absolute  mental  balance  is  the  story  of  the 
jackass  that  starved  between  two  bundles  of  hay.  The  phi- 
losophy of  that  story  is  found  in  the  reply  of  the  boy,  just  home 
from  college,  when  his  father  asked  him,  "Why  did  the  jackass 
starve?"     The  boy  answered,  "Because  it  was  a  jackass." 

In  passing  to  the  a  posteriori  argument  against  freedom  of  the 
will,  the  argument  from  induction,  we  have  first  to  consider  the 
induction  based  upon  material  facts.  That  is  the  basis  upon 
which  this  argument  more  often  is  made  to  rest.  We  are  familiar 
with  the  world  of  matter;  we  know  that  in  this  world  of  matter 
everything  yields  with  absolute  certainty  to  the  strongest  force 
that  is  brought  to  bear  upon  it;  since  this  is  true  of  everything 
else,  it  must  be  true  also  of  the  human  will.  That  is  the  way  in 
which  the  astronomer  reasons  about  the  heavenly  bodies.  The 
law  of  gravitation  has  been  proved  in  regard  to  only  a  very  few 
of  them,  but  the  astronomer  applies  it  with  absolute  confidence 
to  them  all.  Here,  however,  we  have  to  notice  the  very  impor- 
tant fact  that  the  force  of  induction  weakens  with  the  difference 
in  kind  between  the  objects  that  are  compared.  The  greater  the 
unlikeness  between  the  basis  from  which  we  reason  and  the  basis 
to  which  wTe  reason,  the  less  is  the  force  of  the  argument.  It 
ceases  to  be  induction  and  becomes  analogy.1  Now  in  the  case 
that  we  are  considering  the  difference  is  as  great  as  it  can  possibly 
be.  It  is  the  difference  between  subject  and  object,  between 
spirit  and  things,  between  the  conscious  and  the  unconscious. 
There  is  nothing  here  in  common  except  being.  Induction,  there- 
fore, has  no  place  here,  and  even  analogy  has  only  the  weakest 
basis.  So  that  we  may  dismiss  entirely  the  argument  from  in- 
duction that  is  based  only  on  material  facts. 

There  is,  however,  the  induction  that  is  based  on  spiritual  facts. 
The  only  question  here  is  whether  the  case  is  really  made  out.     It 

i  C.  C.  Everett,  Science  oj  Thought,  pp.  267-357. 


FREEDOM    OF   THE    WILL  221 

is  said  that  the  will  always  yields  to  the  strongest  motive.  This 
phrase,  "the  strongest  motive,"  we  must  notice  in  passing,  is  not 
in  itself  exact.  The  strongest  motive  is  not  that  which  is  strong- 
est per  se  but  that  which  is  strongest  relatively.  In  the  case  of 
a  car  on  a  railway  track  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  say  that  the 
car  will  yield  to  the  strongest  motive,  if  we  mean  that  it  will  move 
in  the  direction  in  which  the  heaviest  pressure  is  exerted.  For 
a  very  great  pressure,  if  made  against  the  side  of  the  car,  will  be 
resisted,  while  a  much  slighter  pressure  applied  at  either  end 
may  be  effective  to  move  the  car.  Now  a  man's  habits  are  the 
tracks  upon  which  his  mind  moves,  and  the  pressure  that  directs 
him  along  the  line  of  his  habits  needs  to  be  very  slight  as  com- 
pared with  the  pressure  required  to  move  him  to  one  side  or  the 
other.  But  to  return  to  the  assumption  that  the  will  always 
yields  to  the  strongest  motive,  how  do  we  know  that  it  does  ? 
How  do  we  know  what  is  the  strongest  motive?  We  have  no 
means  of  knowing  except  that  the  will  yields  to  it.  There  is  no 
common  measurement  to  apply,  no  exact  analysis  to  be  made. 
In  the  spiritual  world  we  do  not  have  things  of  a  kind  as  in  the 
physical  world.  Men  differ  from  one  another,  and  different 
motives  vary  in  intensity  in  different  men.  The  scientist  can  tell 
precisely  what  will  be  the  lifting  power  of  a  certain  energy,  but 
in  the  spiritual  world  there  can  be  no  such  accuracy,  and  we  do 
not  know  just  what  the  result  of  a  spiritual  force  will  be.  The 
results  of  such  comparisons  as  are  possible  here  must  necessarily 
be  vague. 

An  application  of  the  a  posteriori  argument  of  greater  force  is 
found  in  the  inferences  that  may  be  drawn  from  our  observation 
of  the  regularity  of  certain  acts  under  certain  circumstances. 
Buckle's  great  work  did  much  to  popularize  this  form  of  the  argu- 
ment. The  statistics  that  he  brings  together  all  tend  to  confirm 
the  idea  of  the  bondage  of  the  will  as  based  upon  the  regularity 
of  human  action.  The  relation  of  the  number  of  marriages  to 
the  price  of  corn,  the  number  of  suicides  annually,  and  the  pro- 
portion in  which  they  are  distributed  between  the  sexes  and  the 
different  ages,  the  number  of  murders  and  the  similarity  in  the 


222  FREEDOM    OF   THE   WILL 

kinds  of  instruments  by  which  they  are  committed,  the  regularity 
in  certain  kinds  of  blunders  such  as  the  misdirecting  of  letters, — 
these  are  some  of  the  more  striking  illustrations  that  he  gives.1 
The  position  is  one  which  to  a  certain  extent  we  naturally  take. 
If  we  place  a  coin  on  the  floor,  we  feel  sure  that  such  and  such  a 
person  if  he  passes  through  the  room  will  leave  the  coin  where  it 
is,  that  another  will  put  it  in  a  proper  place,  and  that  a  third  will 
carry  it  away.  We  are  seldom  mistaken  in  our  instinct  about 
such  matters.  Nevertheless,  from  any  scientific  point  of  view, 
it  is  all  very  loose  reasoning,  a  mere  post  hoc,  ergo  propter  hoc. 
Statistics  deal  with  things  in  the  rough.  Consider  how  very  little 
is  known  of  all  the  facts  that  must  be  reckoned  with.  We  may 
say  that  marriages  vary  with  the  price  of  corn,  but  a  thousand 
conditions  may  enter  into  the  problem  of  which  we  have  no  knowl- 
edge. A  man  may  act  about  as  we  expect  him  to,  but  how  loose 
is  this  expectation,  and  how  slight  is  the  real  knowledge  of  the 
man  and  his  history  and  his  environment  upon  which  it  rests! 
Every  now  and  then,  too,  we  are  disappointed.  Thus  some  man 
commits  a  crime  of  whom  we  least  expected  it.  The  determinist 
may  say  that  in  such  cases  we  have  not  known  all  the  circum- 
stances, we  have  not  seen  into  the  heart  of  the  man.  But  this  is 
only  to  reason  in  a  circle.  When  a  case  proceeds  according  to 
our  rule,  we  say  that  it  proves  the  rule;  when  it  turns  out  con- 
trary to  the  rule,  we  are  not  to  consider  it  an  exception,  because, 
we  are  told,  we  cannot  have  understood  the  circumstances.  All 
this  only  goes  to  show  that  the  argument  against  freedom  of  the 
will  that  is  based  on  spiritual  facts  has  not  been  placed  on  a  sci- 
entific basis,  and  for  the  reason  that  it  never  can  be.  A  presump- 
tion that  human  acts  are  determined  may  be  based  upon  the 
regularity  of  those  acts,  but  the  foundation  for  such  a  presump- 
tion cannot  be  made  so  universal  as  to  leave  no  room  for  the  free 
play  of  the  will  to  some  extent. 

The  third  argument  against  freedom  of  the  will  is  the  so-called 
practical  argument.  If  the  will  were  free,  it  is  urged,  education 
would  be  impossible,  and  the  proverb,  "Just  as  the  twig  is  bent 

i  History  of  Civilization  in  England,  Vol.  I,  Chap.  I. 


FREEDOM    OF   THE    WILL  223 

the  tree's  inclined,"  would  not  hold.  Certainly  the  trust  which 
we  repose  in  education  shows  that  we  do  believe  that  the 
will  is  more  or  less  subject  to  the  influences  that  are  brought 
to  bear  upon  it.  In  the  business  world  we  trust  the  man  who  has 
been  trained  in  business  habits  rather  than  the  man  of  high  ab- 
stract principles  who  has  not  been  so  trained.  Education  does 
provide  the  track  along  which  the  will  more  naturally  moves. 
Yet  here  again  neither  are  the  results  certain  nor  is  our  confi- 
dence in  them  absolute.  Furthermore,  if  we  do  not  recognize 
freedom,  we  lose  the  highest  results  of  education.  For  a  man 
has  not  reached  the  highest  point  that  is  possible  for  him  until 
his  moral  sense  is  aroused  to  independent  activity,  until  he  is 
himself  moved  to  choose  the  right  without  regard  to  the  direction 
that  habit  may  have  given.  In  other  words,  we  have  not  accom- 
plished education  until  we  have  brought  the  man  to  where  of  his 
own  free  act  he  will  choose  the  highest. 

Of  the  arguments  in  favor  of  freedom  of  the  will,  the  first  is 
based  on  direct  self-consciousness.  We  are  conscious,  we  say, 
of  the  power  to  choose,  conscious  of  perfect  freedom  in  making 
our  choice.  This  argument,  however,  has  less  force  than  is  gen- 
erally attributed  to  it.  The  same  difficulty  appears  that  met  us 
at  the  beginning  of  this  discussion  when  we  were  attempting  to 
define  freedom  of  the  will.1  We  say  that  we  are  conscious  that  we 
can  take  whichever  way  we  will.  But  what  is  the  source  of  this 
will  itself?  If  we  say  that  we  are  conscious  of  willing  what  we 
will,  we  only  enter,  as  we  have  seen  already,  on  an  infinite  retro- 
gression. If  we  did  not  possess  freedom  of  the  will,  I  am  not  sure 
that  our  consciousness  in  choice  would  be  at  all  different  from  the 
consciousness  that  accompanied  our  possession  of  such  freedom. 
If  we  could  give  a  mountain  brook  consciousness,  I  suppose  that 
as  it  leaped  down  toward  the  sea  it  might  have  a  sense  of  freedom 
similar  to  that  of  which  we  are  conscious.  In  a  hypnotic  trance  a 
person  may  be  so  affected  that  when  no  longer  in  the  trance  he 
will  do  something  that  the  hypnotizer  has  willed  that  he  should  do, 
and  yet  the  hypnotized  person  thinks  that  the  act  is  done  of  his 
own  free  will.  It  is  instructive  to  throw  a  chip  into  a  stream  and 
i  Page  215. 


224  FREEDOM    OF   THE    WILL 

watch  its  movements.  They  offer  a  good  picture  of  the  exer- 
cise of  our  wills  as  we  weigh  first  one  motive,  then  another,  and 
finally  decide.  Whatever  theory  we  may  have  in  regard  to  free- 
dom of  the  will,  consciousness  does  not  go  behind  activities,  it 
does  not  go  behind  itself.  But  any  absolute  power  of  choice  must 
be  in  some  sense  behind  consciousness,  for  it  consists  not  in  the 
weighing  of  motives,  not  in  decision,  but  in  the  inexpressible 
somewhat  that  lies  behind  decision.  Therefore  little  account  is  to 
be  made  of  this  argument  from  the  consciousness  of  freedom. 

The  second  argument,  however,  based  on  the  moral  conscious- 
ness, is  more  important.  Here,  whatever  our  theories  may  be, 
there  are  certain  facts  which  we  all  recognize.  Thus  we  blame 
the  wrong-doing  of  another  and  praise  him  when  he  does  what  is 
right.  Furthermore,  our  feeling  in  regard  to  another's  acts  differs 
according  as  he  is  base  in  character  or  merely  deficient  in  judg- 
ment, and  according  as  he  is  sane  or  insane;  we  pity  the  insane 
man  for  the  act  for  which  we  condemned  him  so  long  as  we 
supposed  him  sane.  Again,  our  judgment  of  moral  worth,  our 
appreciation  of  nobility  of  character,  is  very  different  from  our 
admiration  of  genius.  But  such  distinctions  as  these  become 
meaningless  if  there  is  no  freedom  of  the  will.  When  we  venerate 
a  man,  when  we  give  to  him  moral  admiration,  it  is  because  we 
feel  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  do  differently,  and  we  applaud  him 
because  he  chose  the  better  course.  Shall  we  say,  then,  that  we 
make  freedom  the  postulate  to  justify  our  moral  judgments  ? 
Rather  these  judgments  show  what  we  actually  do  believe.  Wre 
can  often  judge  of  a  man's  beliefs  more  by  what  he  does  than  by 
what  he  professes  to  believe,  and  the  praise  and  blame  that  we  give 
one  another  indicate  that  we  do  believe  in  freedom  of  the  will, 
and  that  this  belief  is  very  deeply  rooted  in  our  nature. 

It  may  be  suggested  that  we  are  outgrowing  the  feelings  of  blame 
and  praise.  No  doubt  a  certain  tendency  in  this  direction  does 
exist.  Society  is  now  considered  responsible  in  some  measure 
for  sins  for  which  the  individual  alone  was  formerly  held  to  ac- 
count. There  is  with  not  a  few  a  tendency,  as  though  the  case 
were  that  of  an  insane  person,  to  pity  the  wrong-doer  instead  of 


FREEDOM    OF   THE    WILL  225 

blaming  him.  Some  urge  that  all  life  is  necessary,  no  matter  what 
form  it  takes,  and  therefore  there  is  no  place  for  praise  or  blame. 
There  is  a  limit,  however,  to  all  this.  Indignation  against  wrong- 
doing not  only  is  a  part  of  healthy  character  but  has  been  a  great 
element  in  doing  away  with  evil  in  the  world,  and  if  it  is  allowed 
to  disappear,  much  that  is  noble  must  at  the  same  time  pass  out 
of  life.  Some  critics  have  felt  that  the  condemnations  uttered  by 
Jesus  take  from  the  nobility  and  dignity  of  his  character,  but 
to  healthy  minds  nothing  more  contributes  to  exalt  the  thought  of 
Jesus  than  his  words  of  terrible  rebuke  when  they  are  taken  in 
connection  with  the  habitual  tenderness  and  graciousness  that 
mark  his  life. 

In  comparing  these  arguments  that  we  have  been  considering, 
for  and  against  the  freedom  of  the  will,  we  may  dismiss  for  the 
present  the  a  'posteriori  arguments.  The  facts  upon  which  they 
are  based  are  too  general  to  admit  of  accurate  results.  Of  the 
a  priori  arguments  we  have  seen  that  the  argument  against  free- 
dom of  the  will  is  based  upon  the  absoluteness  of  the  law  of  cau- 
sation, or  in  other  words  upon  the  first  idea  of  the  reason,  the  idea 
of  absolute  unity.  It  is  assumed  that  to  break  the  line  of  causa- 
tion is  to  break  the  unity  of  which  the  universe  is  the  expression. 
On  the  other  side,  the  argument  for  freedom  of  the  will  rests  upon 
the  second  idea  of  the  reason,  the  idea  of  moral  goodness.  Let 
us  suppose  that  each  carries  the  weight  which  is  assumed  for  it, 
that  belief  in  the  first  idea  of  the  reason  excludes  freedom  of  the 
will,  and  that  belief  in  the  second  idea  of  the  reason  demands  free- 
dom of  the  will.  Let  us  grant  that  the  opposition  between  the 
two  is  as  great  as  possible.  What  then  ?  Are  we  to  assume  that 
in  this  collision  it  is  the  first  idea  of  the  reason  that  must  prevail  ? 
Is  there  any  reason  for  assuming  that  the  idea  of  unity  should  be 
recognized  as  supreme  over  the  idea  of  goodness  ?  Suppose  them 
theoretically  balanced.  I  think  we  must  see  that  the  second  idea 
of  the  reason  has  even  then  the  advantage,  because  it  involves  a 
postulate  that  is  necessary  to  our  highest  idea  of  life.  If  we  find  that 
the  noblest  life  demands  freedom  of  the  will,  and  that  if  the  moral 
idea  gives  way  to  the  principle  of  unity  we  have  simply  mechanism 


226  FREEDOM    OF   THE   WILL 

in  life  instead  of  spiritual  beauty,  the  second  idea  of  the  reason  is 
given  a  certain  advantage,  and  the  balance  inclines  to  its  side. 

There  is  another  consideration,  also.  The  practical  instinct 
is  more  likely  to  be  correct  than  the  theoretical  instinct.  We  have 
found  indications  of  this  all  along.  The  understanding  attempts 
to  illuminate  the  universe  for  us,  but  the  practical  instinct  rep- 
resents to  a  large  extent  that  unconscious  part  of  our  nature 
which,  however  we  may  explain  it,  is  larger  than  the  conscious  part 
and  in  general  is  more  to  be  relied  upon.  We  may  say  that  the 
unconscious  part  of  our  nature  is  the  result  of  long  forgotten  in- 
heritance, the  result  of  the  moulding  of  all  the  advantages  of  life 
upon  the  world,  or  we  may  say  that  it  belongs  to  our  nature  as 
created.  In  either  case  it  is  larger  and  usually  truer  than  the  con- 
scious part.  The  history  of  philosophy  has  been  to  no  little  ex- 
tent the  story  of  the  understanding  setting  up  its  little  light  and 
spreading  its  illumination,  only  to  find  that  the  unconscious  part 
of  the  nature  has  after  all  been  right. 

We  may  say  that  on  the  other  side  there  is  also  a  postulate, — 
that  in  all  the  affairs  of  life  we  have  assumed  a  unity  in  nature 
and  acted  upon  it,  and  that  in  all  our  dealings  with  men  we  as- 
sume that  they  are  reasonable,  and  that  they  yield  to  the  motive 
which  is  relatively  the  strongest.  We  have,  then,  one  postulate 
over  against  another,  and  we  can  only  ask  which  is  the  more  im- 
portant, the  postulate  that  has  reference  to  character  or  the  postu- 
late that  has  reference  to  being. 

In  all  this  we  are  assuming  that  the  collision  here  between  the 
first  and  second  ideas  of  the  reason  is  absolute.  As  we  go  further, 
although  we  cannot  expect  to  remove  the  difficulty  altogether, 
we  may  find  that  we  can  reduce  it  to  a  minimum,  and  that  practi- 
cally all  that  is  demanded  by  the  postulate  of  unity  may  be  held  in 
connection  with  all  that  is  necessarily  demanded  by  the  postulate 
of  character. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FREEDOM  OF  THE  WILL,  CONTINUED. — ITS  LIMITS. — FREEDOM  OF 
THE  WILL  AS  THE  POWER  TO  PUT  MORE  OR  LESS  OF  EARNEST- 
NESS INTO  LIFE. — EFFECT  OF  THIS  VIEW  UPON  THE  A  PRIORI 
AND  A  POSTERIORI  ARGUMENTS  AGAINST  FREEDOM  OF  THE 
WILL. — ABSOLUTE  FREEDOM. — THE  MEANING  OF  THE  TERMS 
"NATURE"   AND    "NATURAL." — THE   DIVINE   FREEDOM. 

Suppose  that  we  look  at  freedom  of  the  will  as  though  we  had 
never  heard  of  it  before.  What  sort  of  freedom  do  we  want,  and 
what  sort  can  we  conceive  as  possible?  Do  we  want  intellectual 
freedom  ?  We  speak  of  freedom  of  thought.  Do  we  mean  by 
that  the  freedom  to  think  what  we  please?  Do  we  wish  to  think 
3  +  2  =  6,  or  do  we  wish  to  be  compelled  to  think  3  +  2  —  5  ? 
Freedom  of  intellect  or  freedom  of  thought  is  here  reduced  to  its 
lowest  terms.  There  is  no  question  as  to  what  we  want  in  such 
a  case.  We  wish  to  see  things  as  they  are,  to  judge  correctly. 
None  of  us  would  want  freedom  of  thought  in  the  sense  of  free- 
dom to  think  what  we  choose,  or  of  freedom  to  choose  what  we 
think.  The  intellect  in  this  sense  is  passive  and  leaves  itself  to 
be  acted  upon  by  the  forces  of  the  universe.  Just  in  so  far  as  it 
fails  to  do  this  and  interposes  any  caprice  of  its  own,  just  in  so 
far  is  the  intellect  imperfect;  it  is  like  a  mirror  that  is  scratched 
or  discolored.  Do  we  want  freedom  in  regard  to  beauty? — free- 
dom of  taste?  Do  we  wish  to  be  free  to  prefer  one  painting  or 
building  to  another  according  to  our  individual  judgments  ?  We 
certainly  do  not  want  freedom  to  admire  what  is  poorest;  we  wish 
rather  to  cultivate  our  taste  and  to  free  it  from  caprice.  But  cul- 
tivation of  the  taste,  like  cultivation  of  the  intellect,  tends  to 
exclude  individuality  and  to  make  the  individual  conform  to  the 
universal.  How  is  it  as  regards  freedom  to  act  ?  Do  we  wish  to 
be  free  to  act  according  to  our  caprice,  independently  of  reason  ? 


228  FREEDOM    OF   THE    WILL 

There  are  people  who  do  act  thus  independently  of  reason,  but 
we  speak  of  them  not  as  free  but  as  crazy  men  or  fools. 

We  have  asked  these  questions  in  the  attempt  to  conceive 
what  kind  of  freedom  is  possible  and  what  kind  we  desire.  There 
is  a  fallacy,  however,  in  our  method  of  proposing  our  questions. 
We  could  not  ask  the  same  questions  in  the  moral  sphere.  What 
we  really  wish  is  to  act  according  to  law,  but  to  feel  that  we  are 
doing  this  of  ourselves  and  not  as  mere  parts  in  a  machine.  We 
want  room  for  criticism,  for  blame  or  praise.  We  do  not  want 
a  freedom  of  the  will  that  allows  us  to  make  fools  of  ourselves, 
but  a  freedom  that  shall  give  dignity  to  what  we  do. 

The  attempt  to  prove  the  possibility  of  freedom  of  choice  is 
often  made  in  relation  to  unimportant  matters,  where  there  is 
no  evident  reason  why  a  person  should  take  one  course  rather 
than  another.  Thus  we  are  asked  to  touch  one  of  the  squares 
on  a  checker-board.  Choice  enters  here,  and  so  freedom.  Not 
that  freedom  exists  only  under  such  conditions.  Indeed  a  free- 
dom to  choose  merely  among  things  to  which  one  is  indifferent 
is  no  freedom  of  worth.  But  if  we  find  freedom  in  such  cases  as 
this,  it  is  urged,  we  may  assume  that  it  exists  elsewhere.  Yet  we 
have  to  notice  that  even  in  these  unimportant  matters  the  balance 
is  not  wholly  even.  Some  of  the  squares  in  the  checker-board  are 
nearer  and  some  are  more  remote.  When  we  cross  the  Common 
and  come  to  the  place  where  the  paths  divide,  some  habit  deter- 
mines us  in  going  to  one  side  rather  than  the  other.  A  rope  may 
not  reveal  to  the  closest  scrutiny  one  part  as  any  weaker  than  the 
rest,  and  yet  when  the  strain  comes  that  breaks  the  rope  the 
weakest  part  is  known.  In  a  similar  way,  whenever  we  have  to 
make  a  choice,  the  pressure  upon  the  will  finds  the  point  of  least 
resistance,  and,  as  I  have  already  suggested,1  the  mind  is  so  con- 
crete, so  many  elements  enter  into  it,  a  very  slight  pressure  is 
enough  to  disturb  its  balance. 

There  are  certain  limits  to  our  freedom  which  are  easily  recog- 
nized. There  is  first  of  all  a  man's  nature,  the  result  of  heredity 
and  of  all  the  general  circumstances  connected  with  his  birth. 
Peter  may  admire  and  imitate  Paul,  or  vice  versa,  but  Peter 
i Page  220. 


FREEDOM    OF   THE   WILL  229 

cannot  by  any  possibility  ever  become  Paul,  or  Paul  become 
Peter.  Secondly,  there  is  education,  whether  technical  or  untech- 
nical,  the  influences  that  are  brought  to  bear  upon  a  man  in  and 
through  his  environment.  From  these  influences  he  can  never 
escape.  He  may  react  against  them,  but  even  so  he  is  not  the 
same  that  he  would  have  been  had  they  been  different.  Then, 
thirdly,  there  is  the  result  of  habit.  We  may  break  our  habits, 
but  we  are  other  than  we  should  have  been  if  we  never  had  had 
those  habits.  What  God  makes  man,  what  society  makes  him, 
and  what  he  makes  himself, — these  are  limits  from  which  he  can- 
not escape.  In  recognizing  these  limits  there  is  this  gain,  that  we 
see  at  the  same  time  that  there  is  no  break  in  the  history  of  society 
or  of  the  individual.  The  new  is  always  the  child  of  the  old. 
Luther  was  as  truly  the  child  of  the  church  in  which  he  was  edu- 
cated as  though  he  had  remained  faithful  to  it;  the  influence 
of  his  environment  was  upon  him  whether  he  yielded  to  it  or 
resisted. 

Granting  these  limits,  then,  what  place  remains  for  freedom  of 
the  will  ?  It  is  to  be  found  in  the  power  to  put  more  or  less  of 
earnestness  into  life.  A  man  is  under  restraint  everywhere;  what- 
ever the  immediate  sphere  in  which  he  finds  himself,  he  is  bound 
by  the  laws  of  that  sphere.  But  by  greater  earnestness  of  life  he 
may  pass  from  one  sphere  into  another.  In  this  other  sphere  he 
is  equally  bound,  but  he  is  bound  in  a  different  way.  Take  the 
case  of  a  school-boy  who  has  been  given  a  sum  in  arithmetic  to 
work  out :  his  will  cannot  affect  the  true  solution  of  the  problem, 
but  if  he  is  indifferent,  the  result  which  he  obtains  is  likely  not 
to  be  the  true  result,  whereas  if  he  gives  his  mind  to  his  task,  his 
figures  can  hardly  fail  to  come  out  right.  Again,  the  owner  of  a 
music  box  cannot  change  its  tunes,  but  he  can  determine  which 
of  those  tunes  shall  be  played.  A  man  in  a  balloon  is  in  a  certain 
sense  at  the  mercy  of  atmospheric  currents,  but  these  currents 
move  in  different  directions  at  different  heights,  and  the  aeronaut 
can  cause  his  balloon  to  rise  or  fall  from  one  current  to  another. 

Freedom  of  thought  thus  becomes  the  power  to  look  facts  in 
the  face.     By  a  change  of  mental  tension  we  bring  ourselves  under 


230  FREEDOM    OF   THE   WILL 

the  power  now  of  one  set  of  associations  and  now  of  another.  A 
man  may  dismiss  the  thought  of  duty  by  relaxing  the  tension  of 
his  mind  and  allowing  superficial,  more  pleasurable  elements  to 
rush  in.  On  the  other  hand,  if  his  thoughts  have  been  occupied 
with  lighter  things,  and  duty  presents  itself,  the  fulfilment  of  that 
duty  depends  upon  his  power  to  exert  the  necessary  tension. 
The  minister  who  would  not  permit  himself  to  look  into  the 
question  of  slavery  because,  he  said,  every  one  who  did  became  a 
fanatic,  is  only  the  type  of  many  men.  Many  men  have  some  fact 
or  facts  in  their  lives  which  they  will  not  face, — the  skeletons  in 
their  closets. 

However,  in  thus  putting  greater  earnestness  into  life,  are  we 
not  after  all  merely  following  the  strongest  motive?  Is  this  any- 
thing more  than  determinism  in  another  form?  It  is  of  course 
impossible  to  prove  that  it  is  not.  Freedom  of  the  will  is  not 
something  that  can  be  proved.  The  only  absolute  implication  of 
freedom  is  contained  in  the  moral  sense.  The  moral  sense  both 
requires  us  to  recognize  a  certain  amount  of  freedom  and  implies 
that  we  believe  in  a  certain  amount.  If  a  person  denies  moral 
responsibility,  no  further  argument  is  possible  with  him  in  regard 
to  freedom.  We  can  only  say  that  for  the  sake  of  his  system  he 
is  giving  up  one  of  the  most  important  elements  in  life.  The 
measure  of  freedom  that  is  required  by  the  moral  sense  is  most 
easily  recognized  in  earnestness  of  living.  If  it  is  said  that  the 
place  that  is  thus  left  to  freedom  seems  small,  we  reply  that  such 
freedom,  however  limited,  influences  the  character  of  the  whole 
life,  and  to  a  great  extent  determines  it.  There  is  a  saying  of 
Theodore  Parker's  to  the  effect  that  freedom  of  the  kind  that  we 
are  now  considering  makes  up  about  three  parts  in  a  hundred  of 
our  life.  We  may  admit  this  in  the  same  sense  in  which  he  makes 
the  statement,  but  we  must  recognize  at  the  same  time  that  these 
three  parts  in  a  hundred  are  at  the  very  centre,  so  that  the  result  of 
the  exercise  of  freedom  here  affects  all  the  rest.  Measured  by 
its  effects,  therefore,  it  may  be  momentous.  Furthermore,  we  can- 
not estimate  the  amount  of  freedom  by  the  results  that  are  ob- 
tained.    The  measure  of  the  result  does  not  express  the  measure 


FREEDOM    OF   THE   WILL  231 

of  the  effort  that  has  been  necessary  to  bring  about  the  result. 
The  effort  of  the  school-boy  in  working  out  his  sum  may  involve 
as  much  moral  energy  as  that  of  the  great  mathematician  in 
solving  some  problem  beyond  the  reach  of  ordinary  minds. 

This  view  of  freedom  lessens  the  force  of  the  a  priori  argument 
against  freedom,  in  that  it  recognizes  the  unity  of  the  world.  Ab- 
solute indeterminism,  a  freedom  in  which  any  one  could  do  any- 
thing that  he  pleased,  would  break  up  this  unity.  But  according 
to  this  view  the  continuity  of  life  is  not  broken.  Man  is  not  free 
to  branch  out  in  any  direction  as  he  pleases,  but  must  move  within 
the  limits  set  by  nature  and  education  and  habit;  he  is  free  not 
to  escape  from  law  but  to  pass  from  one  sphere  of  law  to  another. 
It  is  equally  open  to  Peter  and  to  Paul  either  to  exalt  or  to  degrade 
the  Petrine  or  the  Pauline  spirit,  but  the  Petrine  is  always  Petrine, 
whether  good  or  bad,  and  the  Pauline  is  always  Pauline.  Augus- 
tine is  always  Augustine,  whether  profligate  or  regenerate.  This 
combination  of  the  freedom  of  the  individual  with  the  limitation 
of  humanity  finds  illustration  in  the  way  in  which  the  heroisms 
of  one  age  become  the  commonplaces  of  the  next.  Thus  great 
earnestness  of  life,  great  heroism,  was  needed  once  in  this  country 
to  face  the  question  of  slavery,  but  what  heroism  does  it  require 
of  us  today  to  pronounce  on  the  moral  character  of  slavery  ? 
Another  illustration  is  seen  in  the  fact  that  so  often  some  dis- 
covery is  made  by  several  persons  at  about  the  same  time.  The 
discovery  may  have  been  impossible  a  little  earlier  because  the 
data  upon  which  it  must  be  based  were  not  yet  clear.  But  then 
came  a  time  when  the  earnest  attention  of  the  strong  minds  that 
were  studying  these  data  seized  upon  the  relations  between  them 
and  leaped  to  the  conclusion.  Thus  we  may  almost  say  that  it 
is  the  age  rather  than  the  individual  that  has  made  the  discovery. 

Can  the  hero,  then,  do  more  than  hasten  a  result  ?  Has  he  the 
power  of  origination,  or  is  the  question  merely  one  of  time,  and 
does  he  perceive  only  a  little  earlier  facts  which  would  in  any  case 
become  obvious  later  to  other  minds  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  we 
must  recognize  the  fact  of  an  originating  power  in  certain  minds, 
and  this  in  moral  and  spiritual  things  as  well  as  in  other  relations. 


232  FREEDOM    OF   THE    WILL 

Just  as  certain  mathematical  results  are  beyond  the  reach  of 
ordinary  powers,  so  there  are  moral  and  spiritual  results  that  may 
not  be  attained  except  as  genius  and  earnestness  united  pass 
beyond  the  line  which  humanity  otherwise  would  reach.  Spencer 
is  mistaken,  therefore,  in  thinking  that  merely  by  living  together 
men  may  work  out  the  highest  results  in  altruism  and  morality, 
that  because  they  live  in  social  relations  the  social  instincts  must 
therefore  become  the  strongest.  Selfishness  is  as  possible  in  the 
social  life  of  modern  civilization  as  in  the  life  of  a  savage  tribe. 
Indeed,  social  life  develops  an  intense  selfishness,  a  conscious  and 
calculating  selfishness,  to  which  the  savage  life  is  a  stranger.  An 
ideal  must  be  struck  out  to  which  men  shall  seek  to  conform,  and 
such  an  ideal  does  not  necessarily  manifest  itself  to  all  men  or 
even  to  the  majority  of  men  simply  because  they  are  living  together 
in  social  relations.  It  may  be  an  ideal  which  ordinary  men  could 
not  have  discovered  for  themselves,  however  glad  they  are  to 
recognize  its  worth  and  beauty  when  once  it  is  presented  to 
them. 

We  have  still  to  ask  whether  the  a  posteriori  argument  against 
freedom  of  the  will  is  affected  by  this  view  of  freedom.  We  have 
seen  that  the  facts  upon  which  this  argument  is  based  are  too 
general  to  admit  of  accurate  results,  and  that  although  the  regu- 
larity of  human  acts  permits  a  presumption  that  those  acts  are 
determined,  the  foundation  for  this  presumption  cannot  be  made 
so  universal  as  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  a  certain  degree  of 
freedom.1  Now  this  degree  of  freedom  is  precisely  what  the  view 
that  we  have  been  considering  suggests.  It  allows  a  certain 
space  within  which  the  will  has  free  play.  There  is  no  incon- 
sistency between  this  degree  of  freedom  and  the  regularity  of  action 
that  is  observed  in  ordinary  life.  Such  regularity  is  to  be  expected. 
For  truth  may  be  so  coercive  as  to  leave  no  opportunity  for  free- 
dom, and  in  the  ordinary  relations  of  life  it  is  generally  thus 
coercive.  But  when  some  occasion  arises  where  truth  is  not  so 
compelling,  or  where  it  does  not  so  immediately  force  itself  upon 
the  mind,  then  the  will  asserts  its  freedom. 

i  Pages  221,  222. 


ABSOLUTE    FREEDOM  233 

When  all  this  has  been  said,  the  mystery  of  freedom  still  remains, 
the  mystery  of  that  choice  which  the  individual  determines  by 
some  act  of  sovereignty  within  himself.  This  mystery  of  freedom 
has  led  many  to  deny  it.  But  what  do  we  mean  by  mystery? 
We  mean  in  general  that  which  cannot  be  formulated,  and  we  are 
especially  inclined  to  consider  as  mystery  that  which  cannot  be 
expressed  in  physical  formula?,  because  it  is  in  physical  formula; 
that  we  express  to  so  large  an  extent  our  thought  and  observation. 
For  this  very  reason,  however,  we  need  never  think  that  we  are 
on  the  wrong  track  when  at  the  heart  of  a  subject  and  back  of  all 
our  formula;  we  find  mystery.  For  there  must  be  a  mystery 
behind  all  formulae.  This  mystery  of  freedom  is  simply  the 
unformulated  essence  behind  all  ethical  formula;  without  which 
those  formula;  in  any  real  sense  would  be  impossible.  At  times 
the  term  "  mystery  "  is  used  in  a  somewhat  different  sense,  of  that 
which  cannot  be  explained  or  for  which  a  cause  cannot  be  found. 
Now,  if  we  give  up  the  idea  of  such  freedom  of  the  will  as  this 
which  we  have  been  considering  because  it  is  a  mystery,  in  the 
sense  that  it  cannot  be  formulated,  we  come  face  to  face  with 
mystery  in  this  other  sense,  in  that  we  recognize  the  fact  that  the 
moral  sense  and  the  moral  judgment  make  up  a  great  part  of 
life  and  yet  we  can  find  no  adequate  cause  for  them.  But  the 
mvstery  that  arises  from  the  impossibility  of  explanation,  the  im- 
possibility of  finding  any  cause  for  a  given  fact,  is  far  more  trouble- 
some than  the  mystery  that  comes  from  the  inability  to  formulate. 
The  inability  to  formulate  is  only  what  we  must  expect  sooner  or 
later  in  the  course  of  any  examination  that  we  may  make,  whereas 
the  mystery  of  causation  is  a  mystery  which  it  is  the  great  business 
of  science  and  philosophy  to  do  away  with. 

We  have  now  reached  a  point  at  which  we  must  recognize  that 
there  is  a  third  form  of  freedom,  uniting  real  freedom  and  formal 
freedom.  Absolute  freedom  is  found  when  both  real  and  formal 
freedom  are  present,  when  the  most  perfect  real  freedom  is  reached 
by  the  power  of  free  will. 

"  Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how. 
Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  thine." 


234    THE  TERMS  "  NATURE"  AND  "  NATURAL" 

There  are  limitations  from  which  no  one  can  escape.  When 
Paul  says,  "  Know  ye  not,  that  to  whom  ye  present  yourselves  as 
servants  unto  obedience,  his  servants  ye  are  whom  ye  obey,"  * 
representing  both  the  higher  and  the  lower  life  as  states  of  servi- 
tude, his  view  is  true.  But  so  also  is  the  view  that  finds  expression 
in  those  words  of  the  Gospel  according  to  John,  "  If  therefore  the 
Son  shall  make  you  free,  ye  shall  be  free  indeed."  2  Whatever 
life  we  lead,  we  do  indeed  serve,  and  the  man  who  acts  from  the 
principle  of  love  is  no  exception;  there  is  perhaps  no  servitude 
so  absolute  as  that  of  love.  Yet  this  servitude  of  love  may  be 
considered  in  the  highest  ethical  sense  as  freedom.  For  if  we 
recognize  the  fact  that  one  form  of  life  is  more  natural  than  an- 
other, then  that  form  is  nearest  to  freedom  which  is  most  natural. 
A  form  of  life  lower  than  the  natural  life  is  slavery  even  when  it 
has  been  adopted  freely;  the  drunkard  has  chosen  to  drink,  and 
yet  he  is  the  slave  of  his  passion.  On  the  other  hand  the  higher 
life  that  is  nearer  the  natural  life  is  in  so  far  freedom,  however 
subject  a  man  may  feel  himself  to  the  moral  laws  that  control 
the  higher  life.  Thus  the  service  of  him  who  works  from  love 
is  freedom  because  it  is  according  to  his  nature. 

But  what  do  we  mean  by  "nature"?  There  are  three  uses 
of  the  term,  each  true  if  taken  in  its  proper  relation.  First  there 
is  the  use  in  which  both  the  higher  and  the  lower  life  are  recog- 
nized as  equally  natural.  This  is  the  view  which  Mill  insists 
upon  so  strongly  in  his  essay  on  Nature,3  and  to  a  certain  extent 
he  is  right.  We  cannot  escape  from  the  power  of  nature;  no  one 
can  do  anything  that  is  not  natural.  That  great  word  of  Shake- 
speare tells  the  whole  story, 

"Yet  Nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean 
But  Nature  makes  that  mean."  4 

The  unnatural  is  simply  the  impossible.  In  all  the  history  of 
organized  life  and  development  there  is  no  point  at  which  the  life 
is  unnatural.     Civilization  is  as  natural  as  the  savage  life,  result- 

1  Romans,  vi,  16.  2  John,  viii,  36. 

3  Three  Essays  on  Religion.  4  The  Winter's  Tale,  Act  iv,  Sc.  iv. 


THE  TERMS  "  NATURE "  AND  "  NATURAL"    235 

ing  as  it  does  from  the  development  of  man's  nature.  The  Brook- 
lyn Bridge  is  as  natural  as  the  beaver's  dam.  If  we  say  that  the 
bridge  is  the  result  of  conscious  effort,  and  therefore  artificial, 
we  are  reminded  that  conscious  effort  also  is  natural.  In  the 
second  use  of  the  term  the  lowest  stage  of  life  is  considered  nat- 
ural. This  use  is  common  in  dogmatic  theology,  which  contrasts 
the  state  of  " nature"  with  the  state  of  "grace,"  the  state  of  nature 
being  that  lower  state  out  of  which  a  man  is  lifted  by  the  power 
of  grace.  In  a  similar  way  we  often  speak  of  a  person's  "  nature" 
as  over  against  the  moral  life  to  which  he  has  attained  through 
self-discipline  and  self-control.  When  we  think  of  the  life  of  im- 
pulse and  of  possible  selfishness  into  which  men  are  born,  the 
truth  and  propriety  of  this  use  of  the  term  are  evident.  Yet  there 
is  a  profounder  truth  in  the  third  use,  which  recognizes  the  higher 
life  as  after  all  the  most  natural.  For  it  is  in  relation  to  the  higher 
life  that  we  use  the  word  "freedom,"  and  if  the  higher  life  is  the 
freer  life,  then  it  must  be  the  most  natural,  since  only  that  can  be 
called  free  which  is  the  fulfilment  of  the  natural. 

The  explanation  of  these  different  uses  of  the  terms  "nature" 
and  "natural"  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  every  man  has  two 
natures,  or  rather  that  there  are  two  aspects  of  his  nature,  the  static 
or  individual,  and  the  dynamic  or  universal.  They  are  the  two 
aspects  which  appear  in  everything  that  has  life.  Thus  a  grain 
of  corn  in  one  aspect  of  its  nature  is  the  hard  kernel  that  we  see, 
and  tends  to  remain  so,  but  at  the  same  time  there  is  another 
aspect  of  its  nature  which  tends  to  break  up  the  kernel  into  some- 
thing different  from  what  it  is.  The  static  nature  tends  to  pre- 
serve the  kernel  in  its  first  form;  the  dynamic  nature,  the  germ  of 
the  plant  within  the  seed,  is  always  pressing  out  to  make  it  some- 
thing that  it  is  not.  The  static  nature  is  the  individual  nature 
in  which  the  seed  "abideth  alone";  the  dynamic  nature  is  the 
universal  nature  by  which  the  seed  is  made  to  "bear  fruit"  and 
take  its  part  in  the  great  processes  of  the  universe.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  egg.  There  is  the  hard  shell  without  and  there  is  the 
germinating  life  within,  and  the  shell  holds  the  chicken  in  until 
the  chicken  by  its  own  effort  breaks  through  the  shell.     Here  as 


236     THE  TERMS  "  NATURE"  AND  "  NATURAL" 

everywhere  the  static  offers  a  certain  resistance  to  the  dynamic. 
In  the  lower  forms  of  life  this  struggle  is  to  a  great  extent  uncon- 
scious. In  man,  however,  it  becomes  conscious,  and  often  the 
collision  between  the  two  aspects  is  violent.  It  is  this  struggle 
that  Paul  describes  when  he  tells  of  "the  law  of  God  after  the 
inward  man"  and  the  "different  law"  in  his  members  warring 
against  each  other.1  In  every  man  there  is  at  the  same  time 
the  impulse  to  remain  what  he  is,  and  the  impulse  to  become  what 
he  is  not,  and  the  tragedy  of  life  consists  in  the  struggle  between 
these  impulses. 

Of  the  two  impulses,  the  two  aspects,  which  more  truly  rep- 
resents the  real  nature  of  man  ?  The  dynamic  could  not  exist 
apart  from  the  static.  But  just  as  it  is  the  dynamic  element  that 
differentiates  the  seed  from  the  stone,  so  the  dynamic  impulse  in 
man  is  that  which  more  profoundly  represents  his  nature.  We 
have  seen  how  from  the  first  a  teleological  principle  has  been  at 
work  in  the  universe.  The  dynamic  aspect  of  human  nature  is 
this  teleological  principle  working  in  man.  The  pressure  of  the 
individual  toward  the  higher  life,  this  pressure  which  is  not  from 
without  but  from  within,  is  the  manifestation  consciously  of  that 
advance,  hitherto  unconscious,  which  has  been  taking  place  from 
the  beginning  of  the  world.  Here  is  the  justification  of  the  use 
of  the  term  "nature"  to  describe  the  higher  life  of  man.  The 
static  aspect  is  natural,  for  all  life  must  have  a  starting-point. 
But  the  static  exists  only  that  it  may  be  overcome  and  give  place 
to  something  higher.  When  the  static  impulse  is  obeyed,  when 
a  man  rests  in  the  static  aspect  of  his  nature,  then  his  life  becomes 
unnatural,  as  unnatural  as  the  life  of  the  grain  of  wheat  which  has 
been  preserved  in  some  Egyptian  tomb  and  so  restrained  for  cen- 
turies from  all  development  and  growth. 

Of  course,  if  no  principle  of  teleology  is  recognized,  or  something 
that  is  the  equivalent  of  such  a  principle,  there  is  no  absolute 
standard  by  which  to  determine  what  is  natural;  one  thing  is 
as  natural  as  any  other  thing,  one  condition  or  aspect  of  life  as 
much  according  to  nature  as  another.     But  if  we  are  right  in  as- 

i  Romans,  vii,  22-23. 


THE    DIVINE    FREEDOM  237 

suming  that  there  is  a  teleological  principle,  then  whatever  con- 
forms to  that  principle  and  makes  itself  its  instrument  is  in  the 
highest  sense  of  the  term  natural,  while  that  which  opposes  the 
teleological  principle  is  unnatural.  We  have  seen  that  there  is 
nothing  in  nature  that  is  absolutely  static.  It  may  be  said  that 
God  makes  only  "  seeds."  Everything  is  germinant.  But  whereas 
in  the  lower  forms  of  organic  life  there  can  be  no  considerable  ad- 
vance without  change  of  structure,  in  man  such  advance  with  no 
change  of  structure  is  possible  to  an  indefinite  extent.  The  strong- 
est recognition  of  this  is  seen  in  the  belief  in  the  possibility  of  the 
incarnation  of  God  in  man.  As  I  have  said,  the  pressure  is  not 
from  without  but  from  within.  The  principle  of  teleology  does 
not  work  over  against  man  as  a  vis  a  tergo,  but  as  embodied  in 
him  and  as  a  part  of  his  nature.  His  growth  is  by  his  own  con- 
sent, and  most  of  all  are  his  highest  advances  made  by  his  con- 
scious will.  Through  the  teleologic  impulse  working  uncon- 
sciously the  seed  dies  in  the  lower  aspect  of  its  life  that  the  higher 
aspect  may  take  its  place.  By  the  same  teleologic  impulse,  but 
consciously,  man  surrenders  the  individual  life  that  he  may  find 
his  place  and  fulfil  his  part  in  relation  to  universal  life.1 

One  question  suggests  itself  at  which  I  shall  only  glance.  In 
human  life  we  have  to  recognize  the  fact  that  freedom  in  the  object 
of  reverence  is  essential  to  the  deepest  reverence.  How  is  it  as 
regards  reverence  toward  God  ?  What  are  we  to  say  of  the  divine 
freedom  ?  I  refer  to  this  question  because  it  comes  naturally 
in  our  way,  but  it  opens  up  one  of  those  transcendent  problems 
which  I  for  one  cannot  undertake  to  discuss.  We  can  have  our 
guesses  and  our  theories,  but  the  account  of  freedom  that  we  have 
followed  up  to  this  point  is  based  on  analogies  of  human  life  and 
human  consciousness,  and  here  these  human  analogies  fail.  God 
is  absolute  being.  In  the  phrase  of  the  schoolmen  he  is  actus 
purus,  absolute  activity.  Whether  it  would  be  possible  for  divine 
power  to  hold  itself  back,  whether  it  might  remain  static  instead 
of  becoming  dynamic,  is  a  question  upon  which  each  of  us  may 
exercise  his  thought  if  he  wishes  to  do  so.  I  shall  not  venture  to 
discuss  it. 

i  Matthew,  x,  39. 


238      FREEDOM  OF  THE  WILL,  CONCLUDED 

In  the  history  of  Christian  theology  the  metaphysical  diffi- 
culties in  regard  to  freedom  occupy  only  a  small  space.  They 
were  not  felt  until  late.  Augustine  and  Calvin  hold  that  man 
was  free  before  the  Fall  but  after  the  Fall  lost  his  freedom  in  refer- 
ence to  the  higher  life.  Here  the  metaphysical  difficulty  is  en- 
tirely ignored.  Calvin  says  that  man  has  freedom  in  little  things 
and  in  wrong-doing.  The  difficulty  rests  wholly  upon  theologi- 
cal grounds,  and  no  a  priori  difficulty  is  recognized.  Man  is  free 
to  do  wrong,  says  Calvin,  but  has  lost  his  freedom  to  do  right. 
Can  this  properly  be  called  freedom  ? — a  freedom  to  move  in  one 
direction  only  ?  Augustine  says,  "  Yes  " ;  that  as  God  is  free,  but 
free  only  to  do  right,  so  man  must  be  considered  free  when  he  is 
free  only  to  do  wrong.  It  might  be  urged  that  the  two  cases  are 
not  parallel,  because  right-doing  is  the  complete  nature.  But 
these  theologians  would  say  that  although  wrong-doing  is  man's 
present  nature  it  was  not  his  original  and  true  nature.  Further- 
more they  recognize  that  man  is  not  always  free  to  do  wrong. 
For  there  may  come  a  time  when  God  wills  to  save  a  man,  and  then 
he  is  no  longer  free  to  resist.  The  Pelagian  and  Socinian  theo- 
logians recognize  a  certain  freedom.  According  to  their  view 
man  needs  God's  help  but  can  resist;  very  much  as  the  great 
forces  of  nature  are  always  ready  to  serve  our  ends,  so  God's 
help  is  at  hand,  and  man  can  choose  whether  or  no  he  will  avail 
himself  of  it.  Is  the  divine  foreknowledge  destructive  of  free- 
dom? Calvin  answers,  "Yes,"  and  Augustine,  "No."  "You 
know  that  you  will  always  wish  to  be  happy,"  argues  Augustine, 
"and  yet  you  know  that  you  will  will  this  freely."  From  the 
metaphysical  point  of  view  the  whole  discussion  is  crude  and  su- 
perficial, and  fails  to  meet  the  real  difficulties.  It  is  not  until  we 
come  to  Jonathan  Edwards  that  we  find  a  profound  discussion 
of  the  problem. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  THIRD  STAGE  IN  THE  MOMENT  OF  NEGATION:    SIN  AND  EVIL. 

THE  THEORY  OF  SIN  DEPENDENT  UPON  THE  THEORY  OF  FREE- 
DOM OF  THE  WILL. — CONSCIOUS  AND  UNCONSCIOUS  SIN. — 
ATTAINMENT  NOT  A  MEASURE  OF  THE  AMOUNT  OF  SIN. — SIN 
PRIMARILY  A  STATE. — SIN  NEGATIVE. — SIN  FOR  ITS  OWN  SAKE. 
— SIN  FROM  THE   DESIRE  TO   CAUSE   SUFFERING. 

We  have  considered  thus  far  the  first  two  stages  in  the  moment 
of  negation,1  the  stage  of  difference,  or  the  doctrine  of  creation,2 
and  the  stage  of  independence,  the  doctrine  of  freedom.3  We 
come  now  to  the  third  stage,  in  which  the  negation  appears  in  its 
most  intense  form,  and  the  freedom  of  the  second  stage  becomes 
antagonism.  This  antagonism  manifests  itself  either  as  sin  or  as 
evil,  according  as  it  is  considered  in  relation  to  the  idea  of  good- 
ness or  to  the  idea  of  beauty.4 

The  theory  that  we  hold  in  regard  to  sin  depends  upon  the 
theory  that  we  have  adopted  in  regard  to  freedom.  According  to 
the  definition  commonly  given  by  liberal  thinkers,  sin  consists 
in  doing  consciously  that  which  at  the  time  we  know  to  be  wrong. 
According  to  the  opposite  view,  sin  belongs  to  man's  nature  and 
therefore  is  essentially  unconscious.  In  the  first  definition  the 
emphasis  upon  consciousness  reduces  sin  to  a  minimum,  for  it  is 
comparatively  seldom  that  the  average  well-meaning  man  delib- 
erately does  that  which  he  knows  at  the  time  to  be  wrc  rg.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  second  definition  raises  sin  to  a  maximum, 
and  perhaps  exaggerates  it.  St.  Augustine's  remark  that  the 
virtues  of  the  heathen  are  splendid  vices  illustrates  one  aspect  of 
this  exaggeration,  but  it  appears  in  a  form  especially  familiar  to 

i  Page  105.  2  Page  105.  3  page  210.  *  page  106. 


240  CONSCIOUS    AND    UNCONSCIOUS    SIN 

us  in  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity,  the  theory  that  all  that  a  man 
does  in  a  state  of  nature  is  sinful. 

We  have  to  recognize,  I  think,  that  only  the  smaller  portion  of 
sinful  acts  are  committed  in  full  consciousness.  Now  if  con- 
sciousness is  to  be  considered  an  essential  element  of  sin,  the 
degree  of  sinfulness  should  vary  with  the  degree  of  consciousness. 
But  experience  does  not  show  this.  We  find  that  if  we  have 
only  a  partial  consciousness  of  sin  at  the  time  when  the  act  is 
committed  and  later  become  fully  conscious  of  it,  the  sinfulness 
does  not  vary  with  the  degree  of  consciousness  but  may  even  be 
considered  in  some  degree  independent  of  consciousness.  A  man 
may  at  the  time  of  wrong-doing  see  the  ideal  before  him  and  feel 
the  pressure  of  duty,  and  may  shrink  from  the  exertion  that  he 
must  make  in  order  to  do  right.  But  in  such  cases,  and  in  nearly 
all  cases,  there  is  a  tendency  on  the  part  of  the  wrong-doer  to 
excuse  himself  and  to  make  light  of  his  offence.  Thus  a  man  who 
appropriates  money  belonging  to  his  employer  may  do  it  with 
the  hope  and  expectation  that  he  can  return  it  soon;  he  takes  it 
to  bridge  over  some  temporary  need,  and  the  offence  seems  small 
in  comparison  with  the  advantage  that  is  to  be  gained;  there  is 
a  minimum  of  the  consciousness  of  sin.  I  do  not  mean  that  there 
may  not  be  those  who  sin  with  full  consciousness  of  what  they 
are  doing,  who  cry  out,  "Evil,  be  thou  my  good!"  We  meet 
them  in  poetry  and  romance,  and  we  may  meet  them  also  in  real 
life. 

The  question,  however,  which  is  the  most  important  for  us  to 
answer  is  whether  unconscious  sin  is  possible.  We  admit  at  the 
outset  that  the  idea  is  illogical.  It  is  easy  to  urge  that  if  a  man 
does  not  know  at  the  time  that  he  is  doing  wrong,  he  cannot  be 
blamed.  But  we  have  already  found  that  life  is  not  logical, 
especially  the  moral  life.  We  might  say  that  it  is  impossible  that 
a  man  should  feel  an  obligation  if  he  cannot  explain  the  reason 
of  it,  and  yet  men  do  feel  the  obligation  of  the  moral  law  when 
they  can  give  no  explanation  of  it  or  only  a  mistaken  explanation. 
But  whatever  disposition  we  make  of  the  logical  aspect  of  the 
case,  our  first  business  is  with  the  facts.     Take  the  case  of  a  cap- 


CONSCIOUS    AND    UNCONSCIOUS    SIN  241 

tain  of  a  steamship  who  knows  that  in  an  hour  his  vessel  will  be 
in  a  dangerous  position  where  all  his  care  will  be  needed,  but 
that  meanwhile  his  presence  on  the  deck  is  not  required.  He  is 
tired,  and  knowing  that  some  relaxation  will  most  refresh  him  and 
prepare  him  for  his  coming  duty,  he  goes  below  to  amuse  himself 
among  the  passengers.  He  becomes  absorbed,  the  time  passes 
unheeded,  and  he  is  aroused  to  a  sense  of  his  duty  only  by  the 
shock  with  which  his  vessel  strikes  upon  some  rock  in  the  dangerous 
passage.  The  ship  is  lost.  Are  we  to  blame  the  captain?  He 
was  perfectly  right  in  assuming  that  he  was  at  liberty  for  the 
hour,  and  that  relaxation  for  a  time  would  enable  him  better  to 
meet  the  coming  strain.  He  was  not  conscious  how  fast  the 
hour  was  passing;  he  had  no  consciousness,  no  "sub-conscious- 
ness," that  anything  was  wrong.  There  was  no  one  point  at 
which  it  could  be  said  that  he  was  to  blame.  Yet  we  do  blame 
him.  We  hold  him  to  be  not  only  responsible  but  criminally 
responsible  for  the  loss  of  his  ship.  Or  again,  take  the  case  of 
a  child  who  is  going  to  school.  The  child  purposely  leaves  home 
half  an  hour  earlier  than  is  necessary  so  that  he  may  have  time 
to  play  on  the  way  and  not  be  late.  The  time  passes  and  the  child 
is  late.  He  is  blamed,  but  why  ?  There  was  no  moment  at  which 
he  was  conscious  that  he  was  doing  wrong. 

Furthermore,  we  have  to  recognize  the  fact  that  in  life  every 
mood  tends  to  justify  itself  so  long  as  it  lasts.  While  we  are 
angry,  thoroughly  angry,  we  do  not  blame  ourselves.  We  see 
only  that  act  of  the  other  person  which  appears  to  us  to  justify 
our  feeling.  We  may  even  apply  in  self-defence  Kant's  principle, 
that  a  man  should  act  as  every  one  might  act  under  the  circum- 
stances. We  often  say  when  angry  or  discontented  that  every 
one  would  feel  and  do  as  we  feel  and  as  we  are  doing.  In  a  cer- 
tain sense  every  mood  is  justified.  For  every  mood  has  some 
cause,  but  no  cause  could  produce  an  effect  if  the  cause  were  not 
equal  to  producing  that  effect,  and  in  so  far  as  it  has  a  cause  the 
mood  finds  its  justification  in  that  cause.  The  difficulty  is  that 
so  long  as  the  mood  lasts  we  look  only  at  a  single  point  in  our 
environment.     Thus  while  we  are  angry  with  another  person,  we 


242  CONSCIOUS   AND   UNCONSCIOUS   SIN 

see,  as  I  have  said,  only  that  act  of  his  in  which  we  find  justifi- 
cation for  our  anger.  But  when  the  anger  passes,  we  find  that 
whether  we  were  or  were  not  mistaken  as  to  the  cause,  we  were 
looking  at  a  single  act  of  the  person  with  whom  we  were  angry 
instead  of  at  his  whole  life.  When  we  come  to  ourselves,  we 
see  the  one  act  no  longer  apart  by  itself  but  in  relation  to  the 
man's  life  as  a  whole.  How  shall  we  blame  these  moods?  Ac- 
cording to  the  view  that  denies  all  freedom  of  the  will  we  shall 
not  blame  them;  it  is  only  a  misfortune  that  men  experience 
them.  But  in  so  far  as  we  affirm  freedom  of  the  will  we  leave  a 
place  for  blame.  We  say  that  the  man  knows  that  he  is  liable 
to  this  infirmity  and  should  be  on  his  guard  against  it;  he  should 
exercise  his  power  of  self-control.  For  the  power  that  a  deter- 
mination has  over  the  unconscious  life  is  very  great.  We  have 
a  striking  illustration  of  it  in  the  way  in  which  certain  persons 
by  willing  beforehand  can  rouse  themselves  from  sleep  at  a  given 
time.  How  does  one  do  it  ?  How  does  the  unconscious  nature 
keep  the  run  of  time?  There  is  no  satisfactory  explanation. 
But  we  recognize  the  fact.  We  have  this  power  over  our  lives 
and  are  responsible  for  its  use,  and  it  is  in  the  failure  to  exercise 
it  that  the  occasion  for  blame  arises  in  these  different  cases  that 
we  have  considered.  Any  one  of  these  persons, — whether  the 
man  beside  himself  with  anger,  or  the  child  late  at  school,  or  the 
captain  who  has  lost  his  vessel, — any  one  of  them  may  say,  "I 
did  not  mean  to."  But  the  reply  in  each  case  must  be  the  same, — 
"Did  you  mean  not  to?  Did  you  will  earnestly  enough  not  to 
do  the  thing  that  you  did  do?" 

There  are  some  who  never  take  command  of  themselves  or 
realize  that  it  is  their  duty  to  do  so.  What  are  we  to  say  of  them  ? 
There  are  men  who  grow  up  without  ever  facing  the  great  prob- 
lems of  life.  They  are  not  without  knowledge  of  the  higher 
relations,  because  they  live  in  a  community  in  which  such  rela- 
tions are  recognized  as  commonplaces.  But  other  habits  of  life 
such  as  those  to  which  they  are  accustomed  are  also  considered 
commonplace;  other  men  besides  themselves  are  living  carelessly 
and  indifferently  and  merely  for  themselves.     They  have  never 


ATTAINMENT   NOT   A    MEASURE  243 

lived  earnestly  enough  fairly  to  ask  what  sort  of  life  they  ought 
to  lead.  They  have  not  refused  to  ask,  but  they  have  not  asked. 
They  are  taking  it  for  granted  that  in  some  way  or  other  they  will 
come  out  right.  Here  there  is  no  consciousness  of  wrong-doing. 
But  we  blame  such  men  just  because  they  do  not  question  and 
do  not  choose,  because  they  do  not  take  hold  of  life  in  earnest 
and  will  to  make  something  of  themselves  for  the  world.  We 
blame  them  because  instead  of  steering  themselves  they  only  drift. 
Actual  attainments  amount  to  little  in  determining  the  amount 
of  sin,  for  they  vary  both  with  the  moral  condition  of  the  com- 
munity in  which  the  individual  lives  and  also  with  his  own  nature. 
Thus  one  man  may  be  living  in  a  community  where  the  habit  is 
simply  that  sort  of  idle  self-seeking  to  which  I  have  just  referred. 
It  would  require  a  great  effort  on  the  part  of  a  man  so  situated  to 
commit  a  crime.  But  take  a  man  who  lives  in  a  lower  stratum 
of  society,  where  a  certain  amount  of  crime  is  as  habitual  as  the 
mere  self-seeking  by  which  the  first  man  is  surrounded.  It  is 
easy  for  the  second  man  to  commit  a  crime.  The  two  cases, 
however,  are  alike  in  that  in  both  the  individual  has  yielded  to 
external  influences.  The  first  man  may  be  simply  a  harmless 
member  of  society,  while  the  second  may  belong  to  the  dangerous 
class.  Yet  in  so  far  as  both  fail  to  exercise  the  power  to  reach 
the  best  that  is  possible  under  the  circumstances,  both  alike  sin 
and  in  the  same  degree.  Or  again,  the  habitual  drunkard  may 
have  struggles  which  serve  at  most  only  to  prevent  him  from 
sinking  lower  and  are  powerless  to  lift  him  higher,  but  which 
would  make  a  saint  of  one  more  favorably  placed.  Or  compare 
this  poor  child  of  earth,  endeavoring  to  struggle  upward,  with  an 
angel  fallen  and  present  among  us.  The  angel  might  seem  to  us 
to  be  holiness  itself,  and  yet  because  he  would  be  living  on  a 
lower  plane  than  that  which  his  nature  had  made  possible  he 
would  be  sinful  as  contrasted  with  the  drunkard  who  is  trying 
to  work  his  way  to  something  higher.  It  is  like  the  great  tree, 
blighted  and  dying  at  the  top,  and  the  little  sapling  that  is  just 
beginning  to  lift  itself  above  the  earth.  We  judge  the  life  not  by 
its  attainment,  its  present  condition,  but  by  the  direction  in  which 


244  ATTAINMENT    NOT    A    MEASURE 

it  is  tending.  It  is  with  this  in  mind  that  Jesus  is  represented 
as  telling  the  priests  and  elders  that  the  publicans  and  the  harlots 
go  into  the  kingdom  of  God  before  them.1  Of  course  in  all  this 
I  do  not  refer  to  isolated  acts  or  momentary  tendencies.  I  do  not 
mean  that  a  single  fault  committed  by  one  who  occupies  some 
exalted  height  implies  a  degradation  such  as  I  have  referred  to. 
What  we  have  to  consider  is  the  general  tendency  of  the  nature, 
whether  that  which  it  is  seeking  is  above  it  or  below  it.  A  man 
may  fail  in  his  highest  endeavor  and  find  himself  doing  that  which 
he  knows  to  be  wrong,  and  yet  may  be  able  to  say  with  Paul,  "  it 
is  no  more  I  that  do  it,  but  sin  which  dwelleth  in  me."2  A  man's 
real  life  is  in  his  ideal,  that  which  commands  the  general  ten- 
dency of  his  nature,  and  whatever  is  exceptional  to  that  ideal  and 
tendency  does  not  really  belong  to  him.  There  are  men  whose 
faults  do  not  really  belong  to  them  just  as  there  are  men  whose 
virtues  similarly  are  not  part  of  their  real  life. 

Our  logic  may  perhaps  have  led  us  to  results  which  might  not 
recognize  themselves  in  concrete  form.  Emerson  says  that  "  when 
we  see  a  soul  whose  acts  are  all  regal  ...  we  must  thank  God 
.  .  .  and  not  turn  sourly  on  the  angel  and  say  '  Crump  is  a  better 
man  with  his  grunting  resistance  to  all  his  native  devils,'"3  and 
our  feeling  very  likely  responds  to  Emerson's  and  we  doubt  if 
Crump  is  better.  Is  not  the  man  who  stands  higher  the  better 
after  all  ?  Is  not  the  distinction  that  we  have  been  making  some- 
what artificial  ?  We  must  distinguish,  however,  between  judg- 
ments that  are  really  artificial  because  they  are  foreign  to  the 
facts,  and  judgments  that  may  appear  to  be  artificial  simply 
because  they  have  to  do  with  facts  which  are  not  obvious.  Our 
feeling  toward  persons  is  determined  by  their  relation  to  us  and 
others.  But  the  judgments  that  we  have  here  to  make  require  us 
to  go  behind  this  relation  and  deal  with  the  actual  thoughts  and 
purposes  of  the  heart.  Our  esthetic  feeling  toward  people  is  one 
thing, — the  love  that  we  bear  them  and  the  pleasure  that  we  take 
in  their  society;   our  moral  feeling,  the  moral  judgment  which  we 

i  Matthew,  xxi,  31-32.  2  Romans,  vii,  20. 

3 Essays:  First  Series,  "Spiritual  Laws." 


ATTAINMENT    NOT   A    MEASURE  245 

must  pronounce,  is  quite  another  thing.  We  may  not  enjoy  the 
society  of  the  man  who  is  trying  to  get  the  better  of  his  temper, 
and  we  may  not  choose  as  our  companion  the  man  who  is  strug- 
gling against  his  habit  of  drunkenness.  Yet  we  may  feel  toward 
them  a  real  sympathy  and  a  profound  approbation,  and  it  is  even 
possible  that  as  we  come  to  realize  the  heroism  and  pathos  that 
are  involved  in  such  struggle,  the  esthetic  charm  also  may  be  as 
great  as  in  those  relations  which  at  first  thought  seem  more  natu- 
rally to  suggest  it. 

Furthermore,  we  have  to  recognize  that  all  beauty  of  character 
is  in  some  sense  or  other  the  result  of  moral  triumph.  If  certain 
characteristics  of  kindliness  and  sympathy  and  truth  have  become 
habitual,  so  that  they  are  commonplaces  and  can  be  acquired  by 
individuals  without  effort,  this  is  to  a  very  large  extent  the  result 
of  struggles  in  the  past  by  which  men's  natures  have  been  soft- 
ened and  made  more  true  and  tender  and  sympathetic.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  suppose  that  these  victories  were  won  by  the  effort 
of  the  direct  ancestors  of  an  individual,  or  by  the  community  at 
large  in  which  he  finds  himself.  We  know  what  power  may  be 
exerted  by  certain  ideal  lives.1  The  moral  struggle  and  triumph 
of  a  single  individual  may  render  beautiful  and  noble  living  easier 
for  multitudes.  The  influence  of  such  a  person  becomes  an  ele- 
ment in  the  environment,  and  his  life  helps  others  to  lead  lives 
that  shall  be  somewhat  similar.  Thus  the  whole  aspect  of  society 
may  change  as  the  result  of  the  moral  triumph  of  a  single  life. 
But  wherever  we  may  lay  the  stress,  whether  on  the  individual 
himself,  or  on  his  ancestors,  or  upon  the  influence  of  certain  ideal 
lives,  we  see  that  all  moral  excellence  bears  witness  to  a  moral 
triumph,  so  that  the  approbation  which  we  give  is  not  without 
foundation  even  in  the  case  of  those  who  seem  to  attain  without 
personal  struggle  the  grace  that  we  find  in  them.  Of  course  the 
most  perfect  result  is  reached  when  the  highest  nature  and  the 
happiest  environment  meet,  when  the  individual  recognizes  and 
adopts  as  his  own  the  best  that  he  finds,  whether  within  himself 
or  without.  Under  such  conditions  we  have  a  character  that  can 
be  contemplated  without  hesitation  or  mental  reservation,  a  char- 
i  Pages  156,  157. 


246  SIN    PRIMARILY   A    STATE 

acter  which  at  the  same  time  wins  our  sympathy  and  commands 
our  approbation. 

Sin  is  primarily  a  state  rather  than  an  act.  In  strictness  we 
may  speak  of  sin  rather  than  of  sins.  I  do  not  mean  that  we  are 
to  give  up  the  term  "sins,"  for  there  are  many  terms  that  we 
should  not  use  in  an  abstract  discussion  which  we  still  may  use 
in  common  speech.  Sin,  the  sinful  state,  manifests  itself  in  acts 
and  in  failures  to  act,  and  these  forms  of  omission  and  of  commis- 
sion in  which  sin  thus  manifests  itself  may  properly  be  called  sins. 
But  sin  itself  is  a  state  of  inertia,  the  resting  on  some  lower  plane 
of  life  when  it  is  possible  to  rise  to  a  higher  plane.  As  we  have 
already  seen,1  the  sins,  the  forms  in  which  sin  manifests  itself, 
vary  according  to  the  environment  in  which  one  lives,  or  accord- 
ing to  the  inherited  or  acquired  tendencies  of  the  individual.  Sin 
itself,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  same  thing  always,  whatever  the 
environment  and  whatever  the  nature  of  the  individual;  it  is  the 
same  thing  on  Beacon  Street  that  it  is  at  the  North  End.  It  may 
be  well  at  this  point  to  distinguish  between  the  term  "sin"  in  its 
stricter  sense  and  certain  other  terms  that  are  used  to  express  moral 
wrong.  Not  only  does  sin  denote  a  state,  but  the  term  is  theologi- 
cal or  metaphysical,  according  as  that  state  is  considered  in  relation 
to  God  or  in  relation  to  some  universal  principle.  Vice,  on  the 
other  hand,  has  a  personal  as  immorality  has  a  social  significance. 

I  have  said  2  that  our  theory  in  regard  to  sin  depends  upon  the 
theory  that  we  hold  in  regard  to  freedom  of  the  will.  We  have 
seen  3  that  this  freedom  consists  in  the  power  to  put  more  or  less 
of  earnestness  into  life.  It  follows  that  sin  is  the  failure  through 
lack  of  earnestness  to  reach  the  best  that  is  possible  to  our  nature 
and  our  environment.  Therefore  sin  is  negative  rather  than  posi- 
tive. To  many  in  our  time  this  seems  a  very  lax  doctrine,  but  it 
is  the  view  that  has  been  held  by  the  profoundest  theologians. 
Thomas  Aquinas  and  Jonathan  Edwards  would  not  be  consid- 
ered superficial,  but  they  define  sin  as   negative,4  and  so   does 

i  Pages  243-244.  2  Page  239.  3  page  229. 

4  Aquinas,  Summa  Theologica,  Pars   I,  Qusest.  XL VIII,  Art.  I.      Edwards, 
Works,  Vol.  VI,  Original  Sin,  Part  IV,  Chap.  H. 


SIN    NEGATIVE  247 

Augustine,1  and  so  does  Leibnitz.2  Those  who  oppose  this  view 
are  apt  to  say  that  it  renders  sin  "merely"  a  negation,  as  though 
the  description  of  anything  as  a  negation  made  light  of  it.  But 
there  is  nothing  mightier  or  more  terrible  than  negation.  Negation 
does  not  mean  nonentity,  and  to  say  that  a  thing  is  a  negation  does 
not  mean  that  it  accomplishes  nothing.  Cold  is  a  negation,  the 
absence  of  heat,  and  we  know  how  powerful  it  is.  Leibnitz  takes 
it  to  illustrate  the  power  of  negation  generally,  using  the  ex- 
periment in  which  a  gun-barrel  that  has  been  filled  with  water 
bursts  when  the  water  is  allowed  to  freeze.  The  negation  that  is 
most  terrible  to  our  thought  and  imagination  is  death.  It  is 
"merely"  a  negation,  but  it  is  a  negation  before  which  all 
tremble.  There  is  no  limit  to  the  illustrations  that  might  be  given 
of  the  negations  that  bring  suffering  and  terror  to  our  lives. 

It  is  true,  of  course,  that  in  all  these  cases  we  are  met  by  posi- 
tive results,  and  that  the  elements  which  immediately  produce  these 
results  are  positive.  When  the  earth  is  cooling,  it  is  the  power  of 
attraction,  we  are  told,  that  lifts  up  the  mountains.  It  is  the  posi- 
tive genius,  the  force  of  will,  in  a  Napoleon,  however  selfish  he 
may  be,  that  overturns  all  Europe.  It  is  the  positive  passions  of 
lust  and  anger  and  the  rest,  that  bring  about  all  that  we  recognize 
as  sin.  This  is  all  true.  Yet  what  we  have  to  notice  is  that  the 
action  of  these  positive  elements  is  dependent  upon  the  presence 
or  absence  of  other  elements.  It  is  only  as  heat  is  taken  away 
from  the  earth  that  the  attractive  power  by  which  the  mountains 
are  lifted  begins  to  work.  It  is  not  the  elements  themselves  that 
bring  about  a  certain  result,  but  those  elements  acting  without  the 
restraint  of  some  controlling  principle  behind  them.  It  is  the  same 
in  human  life.  The  elements  that  produce  the  positive  results, 
the  passions  and  the  will,  the  powers  of  calculation  and  of  combi- 
nation, are  none  of  them  sinful  in  themselves.  But  sin  results 
through  the  absence  of  the  higher  principle  which  should  restrain 
and  control  these  forces. 

Nothing  is  wrong  in  itself.  There  is  no  element  of  the  nature, 
no  instinct,  no  power,  that  does  not  have  its  place.     A  thing  be- 

*  Confessiones,  Books  II,  VII.  2  Essais  de  Theodicee,  §  153. 


248  SIN    NEGATIVE 

comes  wrong  only  when  it  takes  the  place  of  some  possible  better 
thing.  Beastliness  is  not  wrong  in  the  beast,  because  nothing 
higher  is  possible  for  it,  but  for  man  a  higher  and  better  life  is 
possible,  and  therefore  beastliness  is  for  him  sinful.  It  is  the  same 
with  all  our  ideals  and  tendencies.  No  ideal  is  bad  except  as 
it  takes  the  place  of  an  ideal  that  is  better.  No  tendency  is  wrong. 
If  a  tendency  appears  to  be  excessive,  it  is  only  because  other 
tendencies  have  not  been  developed  to  correspond  with  it.  There 
may  be  disproportion  in  the  moral  and  spiritual  life,  but  not  ex- 
cess. This  is  not  true  of  the  body.  Certain  bodily  organs  may 
be  too  large  simply  because  if  a  man  were  framed  throughout 
upon  the  model  that  such  an  organ  suggests,  the  man  would 
be  a  monster.  That  is  because  we  recognize  a  certain  size  as 
normal  for  the  body.  It  is  a  matter  of  habit  with  us,  or  of  con- 
vention. In  a  colossal  statue  all  is  in  proportion,  but  it  does  not 
represent  the  normal  man,  and  any  member  of  it  taken  in  rela- 
tion to  a  figure  of  ordinary  size  would  be  not  only  out  of  pro- 
portion but  excessive.  In  the  spiritual  life,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  is  no  norm  of  development,  but  the  larger  and  fuller  the 
development  the  better.  The  possibility  of  development  in  the 
spiritual  life  is  infinite,  and  therefore  the  greater  development 
of  any  one  part  may  invite  a  corresponding  development  in  all 
the  parts  without  making  a  monster  of  the  spiritual  nature  as  a 
whole. 

In  holding  that  nothing  is  in  itself  wrong  we  recognize  that 
there  are  some  difficulties  which  we  must  face.  Thus  we  may 
say  of  sickness  that  it  is  merely  the  unregulated,  abnormal  action 
of  functions  which  all  have  their  natural  place  in  the  organism. 
But  how  is  it  in  the  case  of  a  disease  like  cancer?  Is  there  not 
here  a  process — I  ask,  of  course,  as  one  without  professional 
knowledge — which  appears  to  have  no  normal  place  in  the  body, 
and  which  is  not  to  be  explained  but  only  extirpated,  if  extirpa- 
tion is  possible?  And  are  there  not  similarly  certain  aspects  of 
sin  which  are  exceptional  or  which  at  least  appear  to  be  so  ? 

Of  these  sins  that  occasion  special  difficulty  in  relation  to  our 
general  theory  there  are  two  classes.     To  some  extent  these  classes 


SIN    FOR    ITS    OWN    SAKE  249 

overlap  each  other,  but  on  the  whole  they  are  distinct  enough  to 
require  separate  treatment.  The  first  class  includes  all  those 
cases  in  which  the  wrong  is  done  just  for  the  sake  of  wrong- 
doing, where  no  temptation  exists  except  in  the  fact  that  the 
thing  to  be  done  is  wrong,  whereas  if  the  thing  were  right  we 
should  not  think  of  doing  it.  The  second  class  includes  the 
cases  where  the  wrong-doing  results  from  the  love  of  tormenting, 
the  desire  to  cause  suffering  for  the  pleasure  of  inflicting  it.  The 
consciousness  of  wrong-doing  may  add  zest  to  the  love  of  tor- 
menting, but  there  is  an  element  in  the  love  of  tormenting  that 
does  not  belong  to  the  pleasure  in  wrong-doing  considered  by 
itself.  This  pleasure  in  wrong-doing  for  its  own  sake  finds  illus- 
tration at  once  in  the  proverb  about  the  sweetness  of  stolen  fruit, 
which  we  have  in  so  many  forms.  Augustine,  at  the  beginning 
of  his  Confessions,1  in  the  account  of  his  boyhood,  gives  the  classi- 
cal presentation  of  such  cases.  He  tells  how  with  other  boys 
he  robbed  a  pear  tree  in  a  neighbor's  orchard.  The  pears  were 
very  poor,  and  he  could  have  got  much  better  at  home.  The 
stolen  pears  were  thrown  away.  What  induced  him  to  commit 
the  theft  ?  At  the  end  of  a  long  discussion  of  the  question  he  con- 
cludes that  the  act  was  done  for  fun,  that  it  was  not  the  love  of 
doing  wrong  which  caused  him  to  steal,  but  the  excitement,  the 
adventure,  in  the  act.  In  all  this,  however,  I  am  not  sure  that 
Augustine  goes  to  the  heart  of  the  matter.  What  was  it  that 
gave  to  the  fun  its  particular  zest?  Was  it  not  the  fear  of  dis- 
covery and  the  danger  of  punishment,  the  excitement  that  comes 
from  peril?  But  perhaps  Augustine  implies  this.  Then  there 
may  also  be  in  the  wrong-doing  a  certain  joy  of  liberty.  We  are 
surrounded  by  all  sorts  of  conventions  and  rules  of  propriety, 
and  often  we  feel  a  restraint  from  which  it  is  a  great  satisfaction 
to  escape.  But  there  are  many  who  confound  morality  with  con- 
ventionality, and  who  protest  against  the  laws  of  morality  as 
though  they  were  only  conventions.  Furthermore,  we  have  to 
recognize  the  fact  that  the  sense  of  freedom  which  constitutes 
the  joy  of  wrong-doing  of  this  kind  is  after  all  a  type  of  the  highest 
life  of  the  spirit.  The  spirit  is  not  meant  to  be  perpetually  under 
i  Book  II. 


250  SIN    FOR    ITS    OWN    SAKE 

the  dominion  of  these  laws  of  morality.  Ultimately  it  is  to  be 
free.  But  it  is  to  make  its  escape,  not  by  breaking  laws,  but  by 
rising  above  them  and  reaching  a  point  of  development  at  which 
laws  shall  have  been  absorbed  into  the  nature,  so  that  a  man  will 
do  right  not  because  it  is  right  but  because  it  is  natural. 

Profanity  is  often  referred  to  as  a  sin  which  has  no  end  in  view 
and  is  performed  wholly  for  the  sake  of  its  sinfulness.  But  this 
is  superficial.  Men  indulge  in  profanity  not  because  it  is  wrong. 
We  are  imitative  creatures,  and  under  certain  circumstances  we 
tend  to  do  whatever  those  circumstances  suggest.  Professor 
James  tells  us  that  if  there  were  a  single  concept  in  the  mind, 
that  concept  would  lead  to  its  distinctive  action.1  If  a  man 
thought  of  murder,  and  all  other  feelings  such  as  love  or  prudence 
were  absent,  he  would  commit  the  murder.  So  with  profanity, 
if  one  is  continually  in  the  company  of  profane  persons  the  pro- 
fane word  comes  naturally  to  the  lips  in  any  moment  of  strong 
feeling,  even  if  it  does  not  pass  them.  The  sin  of  profanity  is 
that  it  indicates  a  superficial  view  of  the  profound  relations  of 
life.  The  Church  is  to  some  extent  responsible  for  the  light  use 
of  the  name  of  God,  in  so  far  as  it  has  represented  God  as  a  con- 
demning judge.  Generally,  however,  the  profane  use  of  the 
name  of  God  is  without  any  thought  of  the  deeper  meaning. 
Furthermore,  it  appears  that  as  a  rule  profane  words  are  the 
most  forcible  phonetically  in  the  language,  and  therefore  have 
most  value  in  giving  relief  to  the  emotions.  Then,  too,  we  find 
here  again  the  protest  against  convention,  with  the  confusion 
between  the  conventions  and  the  ethics  of  life.  In  many  cases 
the  use  of  profane  language  results  almost  entirely  from  this  de- 
sire to  escape  from  the  conventions;  a  boy  swears  or  smokes 
with  a  sense  of  boldness  and  of  a  certain  dignity.  In  general 
we  may  assume  that  where  a  thing  is  loved  because  it  is  wrong, 
it  is  through  the  sense  of  freedom  that  accompanies  the  wrong, 
the  desire  to  protest  against  the  conventionality  of  law.  There 
are  extreme  cases  where  the  individual  feels  that  he  has  been 
misused   by   the  powers   that   control   his   world  and  where  the 

i  The  Principles  of  Psycfiology,  Chap.  XXVI. 


THE    DESIRE    TO    CAUSE    SUFFERING  251 

whole  nature  has  become  soured,  cases  in  which  the  divine  being 
has  been  misrepresented  or  misunderstood.  But  although  these 
cases  may  seem  at  first  to  present  some  difficulty,  they  are  in  real- 
ity no  exception  to  the  general  rule. 

That  which  offers  greater  difficulty,  however,  is  the  love  of  tor- 
menting,— the  pleasure  that  boys  take  in  throwing  stones  at  frogs 
and  birds,  or  in  impaling  insects  on  pins  and  watching  their 
struggles,  the  joy  of  the  savage  in  tormenting  his  captive,  the 
satisfaction  that  some  people  find  in  the  gossip  in  which  a  per- 
son's character  is  torn  to  pieces.  Of  course  allowance  must  be 
made  in  such  cases  for  a  certain  amount  of  thoughtlessness;  it 
may  not  occur  to  the  boy  that  the  fly  has  feelings.  Furthermore 
the  love  of  power  enters.  Thus  the  case  of  the  savage  and  his 
captive  may  be  regarded  as  a  contest  in  power, — the  savage 
wishes  to  show  his  enemy  how  thoroughly  he  is  conquered,  and 
the  captive  is  equally  determined  not  to  show  that  he  is  thus  con- 
quered. Then  there  is  the  love  of  excitement,  no  matter  what 
form  it  may  take.  Life  that  is  not  varied  becomes  monotonous, 
and  relief  is  sought  in  any  and  all  ways,  and  thus  enjoyment  is 
found  even  in  pain  so  long  as  it  is  not  too  painful.  With  some 
the  mere  semblance  of  pain  is  enough  to  satisfy  this  desire.  They 
go  to  the  theatre  to  weep,  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  painful  sensa- 
tions in  following  the  scene  of  some  tragedy  which  all  the  time 
they  know  is  not  real.  Or  they  delight  in  reading  sad  books  or 
in  listening  to  melancholy  music.  In  music,  as  in  literature  and 
art,  the  great  works  of  a  joyous  character  are  few  as  compared 
with  those  of  tragedy  or  sorrow,  so  much  more  easily  is  a  strong 
emotion  of  sadness  produced  than  one  of  joy.  Then  there  are 
people  who  torment  themselves  by  dwelling  upon  their  own 
troubles.  The  satisfaction  which  they  find  in  this  self-torment 
appears  to  be  very  real,  and  one  wonders  whether  such  persons 
would  know  what  to  do  if  they  were  suddenly  to  find  themselves 
surrounded  with  happiness  and  comfort.  In  all  these  cases  the 
semblance  of  pain  is  enough,  as  I  have  said,  to  satisfy  the  desire 
for  excitement.  But  when  the  sensibilities  are  blunted,  a  stronger 
stimulus  is  required,  and  there  must  be  the  spectacle  of  actual 


252  THE    DESIRE   TO    CAUSE    SUFFERING 

suffering, — the  gladiatorial  show,  or  the  bull  fight,  or  the  public 
execution.  Even  here,  however,  there  may  be  an  appeal  to  some- 
thing besides  the  desire  for  excitement.  For  together  with  the 
suffering  there  is  often  present  at  such  times  a  heroism,  whether 
in  animals  or  in  men,  which  is  not  possible  except  when  there  is 
the  risk  of  death. 

It  may  be  asked  whether  some  of  these  tendencies  may  not  be 
a  survival  from  a  lower  stage  of  existence.  Certainly  there  is  a 
place  in  the  lower  animal  life  for  the  love  of  destruction.  We  all 
know  that  the  mere  eating  for  the  sake  of  satisfying  one's  hunger 
is  hardly  enough  to  preserve  life  at  its  best.  In  order  that  food 
may  have  its  best  effect  there  must  be  something  to  attract  the 
taste.  Now  the  lower  animals  of  the  carnivorous  sort  cannot 
flavor  their  food  with  condiments  and  sauces,  but  they  do  have 
the  instinct  for  destruction,  the  joy  in  the  chase,  the  joy  even  in 
tearing  their  prey,  which  give  zest  to  their  food  and  add  much  to 
their  chances  for  continued  existence.  It  may  be  that  it  is  this 
element  which  survives  in  men  in  the  love  of  tormenting,  or  in 
that  desire  for  excitement  which,  as  we  have  seen,  appears  to 
account  in  part  at  least  for  the  pleasure  that  men  find  in  causing 
suffering. 

Finally  we  have  to  recognize  the  fact  that  the  joy  in  causing 
suffering  has  a  certain  place  in  the  normal  development  of  human 
nature.  Just  as  there  is  a  righteous  anger,  so  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  a  righteous  exultation  in  the  punishment  that  befalls  the 
wrong-doer.  Whether  this  joy  will  ever  be  outgrown  is  a  ques- 
tion that  we  do  not  need  to  discuss,  nor  do  we  have  to  ask  within 
what  limits  the  feeling  should  be  confined.  WTe  have  here  only 
to  recognize  that  it  exists  and  that  it  has  played  a  necessary  part 
in  the  progress  of  the  world.  If  men  had  meted  out  justice  to 
one  another  with  only  the  cold  impartiality  with  which  the  judge 
upon  the  bench  utters  his  sentences,  the  world  would  have  been 
far  less  advanced  than  it  is  today  in  the  direction  of  the  higher 
morality.  As  it  is,  wrong-doing  has  aroused  in  men  a  terrible 
sharpness  of  condemnation,  with  hatred  and  scorn  toward  the 
offender,  and  there  has  been  a  joy  in  striking  down  the  wrong- 


THE    DESIRE    TO    CAUSE    SUFFERING  253 

doer  and  in  feeling  that  he  has  had  to  experience  the  same  sort 
of  treatment  that  he  has  inflicted  upon  others.  Even  gossip,  or 
something  that  is  akin  to  gossip,  has  its  place.  There  is  a  duty  in 
the  discovery  and  exposure  of  wrong-doing.  The  difficulty  in 
gossip  is  that  the  process  is  ordinarily  ex  'parte;  the  tribunal  is  a 
secret  one,  and  no  opportunity  is  given  either  for  defence  or  for 
impartial  examination.  Yet  it  is  only  a  morbid  form  of  what  is 
really  an  essential  element  in  the  health  of  society.  Unless  a 
wrong-doer  knew  that  his  character  might  be  exposed  and  his 
wrong-doing  pass  from  mouth  to  mouth,  a  great  restraint  upon 
men  would  be  lacking.  Of  course  the  joy  in  retribution  may 
be  detached  from  the  sense  of  justice,  just  as  anger  may  be  de- 
tached from  its  normal  relation  either  to  self-preservation  or  to 
the  preservation  of  the  community.  We  must  consider  all  the 
various  facts  together  in  order  to  arrive  at  a  right  understanding 
of  them. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SIN  AS  SELFISHNESS. — SIN  AS  DEATH. — THE  MEANNESS  OF  SIN. — 
SIN  IN  RELATION  TO  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  EVOLUTION. — THEO- 
RIES OF  SIN  WHICH  TAKE  AWAY  ITS  SINFULNESS. — THE  THREE 
BASES  OF  THE   DOCTRINE  OF  THE   CHURCH  IN    REGARD  TO  SIN. 

In  line  with  the  definition  of  sin  as  negation  which  we  have 
been  considering  is  a  second  definition  of  it  as  selfishness.  Sin 
is  the  absence  of  altruism,  the  separation  of  one's  self  from  the 
universe,  or  the  attempt  to  make  one's  self  the  centre  around  which 
the  universe  revolves.  This  definition  is  not  new.  Like  the  defi- 
nition of  sin  as  negation,  it  has  been  insisted  upon  by  both  theo- 
logians and  philosophers.  Thus  in  the  interesting  table  which 
Bunsen  presents  in  Christianity  and  Mankind,1  in  which  the  theo- 
logical terms  are  placed  on  one  side  and  the  philosophical  terms 
on  the  other,  selfishness  is  given  as  the  equivalent  of  sin.  But  do 
the  terms  sin  and  selfishness  exactly  cover  each  other?  Sin  con- 
sists in  the  absence  of  self-control.  May  not  a  man  exercise 
self-control  selfishly?  May  he  not  abstain  from  momentary  in- 
dulgence merely  because  he  recognizes  that  self-control  will  en- 
able him  to  prolong  his  pleasure  in  whatever  seems  to  him  most 
attractive  in  life?  Self-control  of  this  sort,  however,  is  rather 
a  form  of  prudence.  It  is  not  to  be  confounded  with  that  self- 
control  in  which,  regardless  of  his  individual  happiness,  or  with- 
out any  distinct  recognition  of  it,  a  man  contends  with  lower 
impulses  just  because  he  feels  that  they  are  unworthy.  Such 
self-control  is  plainly  self-surrender.  If  it  were  not,  we  could 
not  understand  how  a  person  who  had  been  cast  away  upon  some 
desert  island,  without  any  prospect  of  restoration  to  society,  could 
have  either  sin  or  holiness.  As  it  is,  taking  this  larger  view,  we 
can  see  that  for  such  a  person  there  still  are  higher  principles 

i  Edition  of  1854,  Vol.  IV,  pp.  212-219. 


SIN   AS    SELFISHNESS  %55 

and  relations  to  which  he  may  yield  himself,  so  that  even  under 
these  conditions  there  is  the  opportunity  for  a  self-control  that 
shall  result  in  self-surrender. 

In  saying  that  sin  is  selfishness  we  must  remember  that  just  as 
no  one  is  wholly  sinful,  so  no  one  is  wholly  selfish.  There  is  no 
human  being  who  is  not  in  some  direction  or  other  taken  out  of 
himself,  none  who  has  not  some  love,  some  self-sacrificing  spirit. 
I  speak  of  this  in  order  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  consideration 
of  a  difficulty  that  has  been  urged.  If  sin  is  selfishness,  it  is  asked, 
what  are  we  to  say  of  the  wrong  that  is  done  for  the  sake  of  an- 
other? Thomas  Aquinas  attempts  to  meet  this  difficulty  by  say- 
ing that  the  friend  for  whose  sake  we  do  the  wrong  is  an  "alter 
ego,"  another  self,  and  therefore  what  is  done  for  him  is  done  as 
though  for  one's  self.  But  this  is  hardly  satisfactory.  For  we  do 
distinguish  between  the  wrong  act  of  a  man  who  does  it  for  him- 
self alone  and  that  of  another  who  does  it  for  the  sake  of  a  friend. 
It  is  at  least  the  beginning  of  a  higher  life  for  any  man  to  have 
an  "alter  ego."  That  to  some  extent  he  should  have  his  life  in 
another  instead  of  in  himself  shows  that  he  has  broken  through 
the  barriers  of  his  selfishness.  If  a  man  has  an  "alter  ego"  it 
must  remain  an  "alter  ego"  and  can  never  become  an  "ego," 
and  in  so  far  selfishness  is  set  at  naught.  Therefore  if  the  defi- 
nition of  sin  as  selfishness  is  to  stand,  the  term  "selfishness" 
must  be  qualified.  It  must  be  used  as  meaning  the  preference 
of  some  smaller,  narrower  relation  to  one  that  is  broader  and 
larger.  The  man  with  his  "alter  ego"  is  unselfish  as  compared 
with  one  who  lives  only  for  himself,  but  his  life  is  narrow  as  com- 
pared with  that  of  a  man  who  lives  not  merely  for  one  other  per- 
son than  himself  but  for  the  good  of  many,  and  in  relation  with 
higher  and  broader  laws  than  those  which  make  only  for  his  own 
individual  interest  or  his  friend's.  In  cases  of  this  sort  selfish- 
ness is  often  a  matter  of  emphasis.  Thus  patriotism  is  a  virtue 
in  so  far  as  the  individual  gives  himself  in  service  to  his  country, 
but  when  he  says  with  Decatur,  "our  country,  right  or  wrong," 
a  larger  principle  is  sacrificed  to  something  smaller. 

Still  another  definition  or  characterization  of  sin,  but  this  time 


%5()  SIN    AS    DEATH 

in  figurative  form,  is  found  in  the  description  of  it  as  death.  The 
term  "death"  as  applied  to  sin  occurs  frequently  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament and  is  often  used  in  common  speech  today.  The  most 
obvious  explanation  is  that  death  is  insensibility.  It  is  in  this 
sense  that  Paul  speaks  on  the  one  hand  of  being  "  dead  unto  sin 
but  alive  unto  God"1  and  on  the  other  hand  of  being  "dead 
through  .  .  .  trespasses  and  sins. " 2  Here  a  question  arises 
similar  to  that  which  met  us  when  we  were  considering  the  use  of 
the  term  "natural."3  Can  the  term  "death,"  in  any  true  sense, 
be  absolutely  applied,  so  that  when  we  say  that  a  spirit  is  dead 
we  need  not  specify  whether  the  death  is  to  the  higher  or  to  the 
lower  life  ?  We  may  reply  that  if  the  higher  development  is  that 
which  belongs  to  the  truer,  deeper,  more  absolute  nature  of  the 
spirit,  then  the  failure  to  reach  that  higher  development  may 
be  considered  in  some  absolute  sense  as  the  death  of  the  spirit, 
and  therefore  except  when  the  term  is  expressly  referred  to  the 
lower  life  it  will  always  mean  the  death  to  the  higher  life. 

There  is  another  and  more  profound  sense,  however,  in  which 
the  term  "death"  may  be  used  of  sin  without  any  possibility  of 
misunderstanding.  In  any  living  creature,  man  or  beast,  the 
lower  elements  of  the  bodily  life,  the  various  mechanical  and 
chemical  forces  that  enter  into  it,  are  all  to  great  extent  under 
the  control  of  some  vital  principle.  What  we  commonly  call 
death  is  the  withdrawal  of  this  principle.  We  do  not  have  to 
inquire  here  as  to  the  nature  of  the  controlling  element.  We 
have  only  to  recognize  that  it  exists  as  the  higher  law  in  the  life  of 
the  body,  and  that  when  its  control  is  no  longer  felt,  and  the  lower 
laws  have  full  sway,  dissolution  follows.  Now  the  death  of  the 
spirit  is  of  very  much  the  same  sort.  So  long  as  the  higher  pur- 
pose, the  will  to  do  right,  is  present,  all  the  lower  elements  of 
the  nature  are  held  in  subordination  and  controlled.  The  sub- 
ordination may  not  be  perfect,  any  more  than  the  similar  sub- 
ordination of  the  lower  elements  in  the  life  of  the  body.  But  so 
long  as  the  will  to  control  is  active,  any  lack  of  subordination 
in  the  lower  elements  appears  abnormal  and,  as  it  were,  acci- 

i  Romans,  vi,  11.  2  Ephesians,  ii,  1.  3  Page  234. 


SIN    AS    DEATH  257 

dental.  "It  is  no  more  I  that  do  it,  but  sin  which  dwelleth  in 
me."  x  Paul  has  so  committed  himself  to  the  higher  life  that 
whatever  happens  to  have  remained  over  from  the  lower  life  is 
foreign  to  him,  and  in  so  far  as  he  is  doing  his  best  to  conquer  it 
he  is  not  responsible  for  it.  But  when  in  sin  the  will  relaxes  its 
hold,  and  all  the  lower  elements,  all  the  baser  passions  and  desires, 
assert  themselves  uncontrolled,  then  the  dissolution  of  the  spirit- 
ual nature  follows. 

A  living  body  has  command  to  a  certain  extent  over  its  en- 
vironment. It  reacts  against  it  according  to  its  own  nature,  and 
derives  health  from  it  instead  of  sickness.  The  bracing  cold  of 
a  winter  day,  instead  of  lowering  the  vitality  of  a  vigorous  body, 
increases  it;  the  body  responds  with  fresh  vitality.  In  a  similar 
way  the  spiritual  nature  which  has  control  of  itself,  the  nature 
which  is  truly  alive,  moves  among  temptations  unharmed  and 
makes  them  contribute  to  its  greater  strength.  On  the  other 
hand,  just  as  the  dead  body  is  at  the  mercy  of  its  environment, 
so  when  the  elements  of  the  spiritual  life  lack  the  supreme  con- 
trol of  the  higher  purpose,  the  individual  yields  to  the  influence 
of  his  environment,  whatever  it  may  be,  and  responds  to  it  ac- 
cording to  the  tendencies  of  the  lower  elements  of  his  nature. 
The  process  of  dissolution  may  be  retarded.  The  dead  body  may 
be  so  shielded  as  to  remain  for  a  long  period  in  a  state  of  incor- 
ruption,  and  the  individual  who  has  fallen  into  the  state  of  sin, 
or  who  has  not  risen  above  it,  may  have  an  environment  that  pro- 
tects him  to  some  extent  from  the  worst  transgressions  into  which 
he  might  otherwise  fall.  But  ordinarily  the  processes  of  disso- 
lution and  decay  are  swift. 

This  characterization  of  sin  as  death  is  especially  helpful  in 
that  it  sets  the  nature  of  sin  in  its  true  light.  The  dissolution  and 
corruption  of  any  form  of  life  are  always  disgusting,  and  the  higher 
the  nature  of  the  life  the  more  disgusting  its  dissolution.  The 
corruption  of  the  soul  is  more  horrible  than  that  of  the  body  as 
the  corruption  of  the  body  is  more  horrible  than  that  of  the  plant, 
and  if  our  spiritual  sense  were  as  finely  attuned  as  our  physical 
senses,  we  should  have  the  same  feeling  in  even  stronger  form 
1  Romans,  vii,  17,  20. 


258  THE    MEANNESS    OF   SIN 

toward  the  corruption  of  the  spirit  that  we  have  toward  the  cor- 
ruption of  the  body;  we  should  have  the  same  dread  of  it  for 
ourselves  and  the  same  shrinking  from  it  in  others.  The  only 
modification  that  there  might  be  in  this  feeling  would  spring  from 
the  thought  that  the  corruption  of  the  spiritual  nature  may  not 
be  complete,  or  perhaps  never  is  complete,  but  that  some  germ 
of  life  always  remains  to  afford  hope  or  promise. 

The  last  characterization  of  sin  that  I  shall  give  is  less  a  char- 
acterization than  the  expression  of  feeling  or  judgment  in  regard 
to  it.  All  sin  is  meanness.  There  is  nothing  strong  or  noble  or 
admirable  in  any  sin.  Sin  always  implies  weakness  and  at  least 
the  tendency  toward  selfishness,  and  if  anything  may  receive  the 
condemnation  of  meanness,  it  is  the  mingling  of  weakness  and 
selfishness.  It  is  true  that  there  are  sinful  lives  from  which  we 
cannot  withhold  a  certain  admiration.  But  what  we  really  ad- 
mire is  not  the  sin  but  the  quality  of  the  nature  which  has  yielded 
itself  to  sin.  The  appearance  of  strength  in  a  sinful  life  is  due 
to  the  positive  elements  that  enter  into  it.  Thus  Napoleon 
showed  a  keenness  of  intellect,  a  vastness  of  design,  a  power, 
which  compel  our  admiration.  But  the  spirit  of  the  man  who 
would  gain  the  whole  world  and  hold  it  for  himself  alone  is  as 
mean  as  the  spirit  of  the  boy  who  will  filch  from  a  companion's 
lunch  basket  the  cake  or  the  apple  that  he  wants. 

If  we  accept  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  sin  is  the  lingering  in  a 
lower  stage  of  existence  when  one  has  the  power  to  attain  to  a 
higher  stage.  The  sinful  man  fails  to  take  the  place  that  the 
development  of  the  world  makes  possible  for  him.  If  we  ask 
what  is  meant  by  the  terms  "lower"  and  "higher"  in  this  con- 
nection, Spencer's  definition  is  as  good  as  any  other, — the  higher 
life  is  that  which  carries  with  it  the  more  complex  relationship.1 
Breadth  and  length  are  the  terms  used  by  Spencer,  but  the  breadth 
is  so  much  the  more  important  of  the  two  that  we  may  speak  of 
it  without  regard  to  the  length.  On  the  one  hand  is  the  individual 
who  lives  for  himself  alone,  on  the  other  is  the  man  who  lives  for 
the  great  interests  of  the  world  about  him.     The  purely  selfish 

i  The  Principles  of  Biology,  Part  I,  Chap.  VI. 


THEORIES    OF    SIN   AS    NOT   SINFUL  259 

person  touches  the  world  at  only  a  single  point,  the  other  derives 
sustenance  from  many  directions  and  various  sources.  The  most 
perfect  man  would  be  one  who  should  consciously  and  by  his 
own  choice  always  make  the  best  of  himself,  maintaining  himself 
always  upon  the  most  advanced  wave  of  human  progress.  It  is 
not  the  fault  of  the  great  mass  of  men  that  they  do  not  occupy 
this  position.  A  man  such  as  we  have  in  mind  would  be  one  in 
whom  the  elements  of  human  life  are  happily  combined  and 
whose  environment  has  been  the  most  favorable.  In  the  case  of 
most  men  conditions  are  not  thus  wholly  favorable.  A  man's 
character  varies  much  according  to  the  position  from  which  he 
starts,  and  his  starting-point  may  be  anywhere  along  the  line  of 
human  progress  as  it  is  represented  in  different  communities  and 
nationalities.  Men  live  in  different  centuries,  as  it  were,  at  the 
same  time.  Yet,  whatever  a  man's  position,  it  is  always  possible 
to  make  the  most  of  it,  and  sinfulness  in  any  man,  in  the  strictest 
sense  of  the  term,  consists,  as  I  have  said,  in  remaining  in  a  lower 
stage  of  progress  when  it  has  been  in  his  power  to  make  some 
advance,  however  small. 

There  are  certain  theories  in  regard  to  sin  which  define  it  in 
such  a  way  as  to  take  away  its  sinfulness.  That  is  to  say,  they 
take  out  of  it  all  that  calls  for  condemnation.  Such  theories 
naturally  include  all  those  that  deny  the  freedom  of  the  will,  for 
where  there  is  no  freedom  of  the  will,  there  can  be  no  condemna- 
tion, no  blame.1  There  are  two  general  classes  of  these  theories, 
the  first  philosophical,  the  second  theological.  The  philosophical 
theories  present  first  of  all  a  view  that  rests  upon  a  recognition  of 
the  fact  that  in  an  infinite  world  of  verities  some  must  be  higher 
and  some  lower,  and  every  place  must  be  filled,  the  lowest  as  well 
as  the  highest.  Thus  there  comes  imperfection,  and  if  sin  is 
imperfection,  then  we  have  sin.  The  best  statement  of  this  view, 
although  not  in  precisely  the  form  in  which  I  have  suggested  it, 
is  to  be  found  in  Spinoza's  Letters. 2  Spinoza  here  urges  that  sin  is 
made  to  exist  through  a  faulty  generalization.     We  put  Judas  and 

i  Page  224. 

2  Epistolw  XXXII-XXXIV.     R.  Willis,  Benedict  de  Spinoza,  pp.  295-312. 


260  THEORIES    OF    SIN    AS    NOT    SINFUL 

John  in  the  same  class  and  apply  to  both  the  same  standard,  and 
then  we  call  Judas  sinful,  and  blame  him,  because  after  we  have 
ourselves  classed  him  with  John  we  find  that  he  does  not  possess 
the  qualities  that  John  possesses.  But  what  right  have  we, 
Spinoza  asks,  to  make  such  a  generalization  ?  What  right  have 
we  to  put  Judas  in  the  same  class  with  John  and  then  blame  him 
because  he  does  not  fulfil  the  conditions  which  that  class  implies  ? 
We  do  not  attempt  such  generalization  in  other  relations.  We 
do  not  put  a  stone  in  the  same  class  with  a  plant,  or  a  plant  in 
the  same  class  with  an  animal,  and  then  find  fault  with  the  stone 
or  the  plant  because  it  does  not  fulfil  the  conditions  of  a  class  in 
which  it  does  not  belong.  In  nature  there  are  no  classes,  but 
only  individuals,  and  we  must  judge  each  thing  by  itself  and  not 
make  our  judgments  depend  upon  our  own  arbitrary  classifica- 
tions. Spinoza,  however,  does  recognize  that  John  has  an  ad- 
vantage in  occupying  the  higher  position.  Each  individual  life 
is  to  be  measured  by  the  fulness  of  being  that  it  possesses,  and 
since  being  is  the  highest  good,  greater  fulness  of  being  is  the 
greater  good.  Therefore  we  ought  to  try  to  raise  Judas  to  a 
condition  in  which  he  may  be  ranked  with  John.  Just  as  it  is 
our  duty  to  help  the  poor  out  of  their  poverty,  so  we  ought  to  help 
these  imperfect  existences  out  of  their  imperfection. 

But  the  sin  that  is  simply  imperfection  can  hardly  be  considered 
real  sin.  Real  sin,  as  we  have  seen,1  consists,  not  in  a  man's  hold- 
ing a  lower  place,  but  in  his  holding  that  lower  place  when  it  is 
possible  for  him  to  rise  to  something  higher.  It  is  no  sin  in  the 
brute  when  he  fills  the  place  intended  for  him,  however  low,  but 
when  a  man  lets  himself  sink  to  the  place  of  the  brute  it  is  sin  for 
that  man. 

Another  view  that  is  presented  in  these  philosophical  theories 
about  sin  is  that  just  as  darkness  is  necessary  to  light,  so  sin  is 
needed  in  order  that  holiness  may  exist.  It  is  true  that  light  must 
be  interrupted  by  darkness,  and  darkness  by  light,  if  we  are  to 
be  conscious  of  either.  But  to  assume  therefore  that  sin  must 
exist  in  order  that  there  may  be  holiness,  is  to  go  too  far.  For 
all  that  is  necessary  to  holiness  is  the  possibility,  not  the  actuality, 
i  Page  246. 


THEORIES    OF   SIN   AS    NOT    SINFUL  261 

of  sin.  Sin  has  its  place  in  the  universe  of  free  spirit,  but  only  as 
a  foe  that  is  to  be  met  and  conquered,  and  it  may  be  conquered 
as  truly  when  it  is  present  only  in  idea  as  when  it  is  actually  present. 
You  may  contend  with  an  enemy  while  you  keep  him  shut  out 
from  your  city  walls  as  truly  as  after  he  has  been  admitted  into  the 
city.  There  is  no  reason,  theoretically  at  least,  why  any  individual 
should  be  absolutely  sinful  in  order  that  sin  may  be  overcome.  In 
Raphael's  painting  of  St.  Michael  the  dragon  has  its  place  in  the 
picture,  but  its  place  is  at  the  foot  of  the  angel,  and  this  is  the 
place  of  sin  in  life. 

The  second  general  class  of  theories  that  exclude  the  sinfulness 
of  sin  are  theological.  Schleiermacher's  theory  in  regard  to  sin 
is  of  this  class.  First  in  his  statement  of  the  nature  of  sin  and 
then  in  his  account  of  the  history  of  sin  he  takes  from  it  all  real 
sinfulness.  His  statement  of  the  nature  of  sin  follows  from  his 
definition  of  religion.  Religion  is  the  sense  of  absolute  dependence. 
Then  sin  is  a  state  in  which  absolute  dependence  either  is  not 
felt  at  all  or  is  felt  with  difficulty,  a  state  in  which  the  individual 
feels  himself  more  or  less  independent.  This  definition  of  sin 
as  independence  may  seem  to  come  very  near  to  the  definition 
that  we  have  already  considered  1  which  identifies  sin  with  selfish- 
ness; for  independence,  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  matter  of  the  will,  is 
the  affirmation  of  self.  There  are  various  ways,  however,  in 
which  one  may  fail  to  reach  the  sense  of  absolute  dependence, 
and  the  sense  of  independence  becomes  identical  with  selfishness 
only  when  the  individual  is  unwilling  to  have  the  sense  of  de- 
pendence, and  clings  to  a  certain  autonomy.  In  general  the 
sense  of  absolute  dependence  involves  to  a  very  marked  degree 
an  intellectual  recognition.  The  individual  must  have  a  large 
view  of  the  universe,  and  of  his  own  relation  to  it,  if  the  sense  of 
absolute  dependence  is  to  force  itself  upon  him.  But  this  is  not 
true  of  the  ideas  which  we  have  recognized  as  entering  into  the 
content  of  religion.  One  does  not  need  such  absoluteness  or  vast- 
ness  of  knowledge  to  admire  that  which  is  beautiful  or  to  feel  the 
weight  of  the  moral  law. 

Furthermore,  I  do  not  think  that  most  persons  would  consider 
i  Page  255. 


262  THEORIES    OF    SIN   AS    NOT    SINFUL 

the  sense  of  dependence  a  matter  for  praise,  or  the  lack  of  it  a 
cause  for  blame.  Here  Schleiermacher's  definition  excludes  that 
which  to  the  ordinary  consciousness  is  necessarily  implied  in  the 
thought  of  sin.  We  might  feel  like  congratulating  the  person 
who  had  the  sense  of  absolute  dependence  or  commiserating  the 
person  who  did  not  have  it,  but  this  commiseration  or  congratu- 
lation would  be  very  different  from  the  blame  or  praise  that  is 
given  the  individual  who  is  or  is  not  guilty  of  sin  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  term.  It  may  be  asked,  why  need  we  hold  to  the 
ordinary  sense  of  the  term  ?  Why  not  let  our  notion  of  sin  con- 
form to  whatever  theory  we  adopt  in  regard  to  it?  But  our 
theories  must  conform  to  the  fundamental  elements  of  our  con- 
sciousness. We  must  take  these  elements  as  they  are,  and  if  at 
any  point  our  consciousness  in  regard  to  them  is  disturbed  by  our 
theories  we  must  question  the  correctness  of  the  theories. 

In  his  history  of  sin  Schleiermacher  makes  sin  result  from  the 
fact  that  in  the  development  of  life  the  physical  or  natural  has 
the  start  of  the  spiritual,  and  so  the  spiritual  is  always  at  a  dis- 
advantage. The  consciousness  of  sin  arises  as  those  who  are 
behind  in  spiritual  progress  compare  their  position  with  the  stage 
that  has  been  attained  by  those  who  are  in  advance.  Now  we 
may  certainly  recognize  the  fact  that  "that  is  not  first  which  is 
spiritual,  but  that  which  is  natural;  then  that  which  is  spiritual." l 
But  here  again  I  think  that  we  make  a  mistake  if  we  oppose  the 
natural  and  the  spiritual  too  sharply.  We  may  say  that  first 
there  is  the  selfish  and  then  the  altruistic;  a  man  must  have  a 
self  before  he  can  surrender  it.  But  if  sin  is  to  exist  there  must 
be  some  freedom,  and  no  matter  how  much  the  spiritual  may  be 
oppressed  by  the  physical,  if  the  individual  is  only  doing  his  best 
to  overcome  the  lower  nature  he  is  in  so  far  free  from  sin. 

I  have  referred  to  Schleiermacher's  position  in  this  way  because 
his  theory  of  sin  is  somewhat  different  from  the  theories  that 
have  marked  the  history  of  the  Christian  Church  in  general,  but 
these  also  if  urged  to  an  extreme  take  away  from  sin  its  sinful- 
ness.    For,  in  the  first  place,  if  sinfulness  is  real  only  in  so  far  as 

1 1  Corinthians,  xv,  46. 


THEORIES    OF   THE    CHURCH    AS    TO    SIN  263 

it  is  a  matter  of  blame,  then  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word 
"blame"  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity  allows  room  for  only 
one  act  of  sin  in  the  history  of  man,  that  act  of  Adam  through 
which  all  men  have  inherited  the  taint  that  is  called  sin.  Here 
is  something  of  the  nature  of  a  terrible  disease.  The  individual 
is  no  more  to  be  blamed  for  it  than  a  man  is  blamed  because  of 
some  disease  of  the  body  which  he  has  inherited.  Making  allow- 
ance for  all  the  distinctions  that  have  been  made  between  differ- 
ent kinds  of  freedom,  the  fact  remains  that  from  Augustine  down 
this  doctrine  denies  that  it  is  possible  for  any  one  to  free  himself 
from  the  power  of  sin.  But  if  he  cannot  free  himself  he  is  not  to 
blame,  and  he  may  make  his  confession  of  sinfulness  very  freely 
and  openly;  if  we  all  have  the  disease  we  can  speak  of  it  frankly 
and  without  any  real  self-condemnation.  Furthermore,  the  state 
of  sin  in  which  a  man  is  placed  by  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity 
does  not  necessarily  affect  his  character;  as  some  one  has  said, 
he  may  be  "a  very  good  man  and  yet  totally  depraved."  In  stricter 
phrase,  moral  character  may  be  denied  to  virtues  that  exist  in  the 
unregenerate,  and,  with  Augustine,  we  shall  see  in  the  virtues 
of  the  heathen  splendid  vices.  Now  it  is  perfectly  true  that  a 
man  may  be  honest  and  kindly  and  may  preserve  his  relations 
with  others  honorably,  and  yet  may  be  profoundly  selfish.  His 
goodness  may  be  wholly  superficial,  and  yet  enough  to  enable 
him  to  make  a  fair  showing  in  the  world.  It  is  also  true  that  a 
life  may  be  lived  honestly  and  purely  and  yet  lack  the  transform- 
ing grace  of  religion,  and  this  lack  must  take  something  from  the 
beauty  of  character.  A  virtue  in  an  individual  who  feels  himself 
isolated  in  his  struggle  for  the  right  has  a  somewhat  different 
aspect  from  that  of  the  same  virtue  when  it  is  possessed  in  the  full 
light  of  the  consciousness  of  the  divine  presence,  and  the  thought 
of  a  relationship  to  God  gives  an  inspiration  that  may  enable  one 
to  reach  greater  heights  of  virtue  than  would  otherwise  be  possible. 
Yet  it  may  not  be  a  man's  fault,  sometimes,  but  his  misfortune, 
that  he  fails  to  reach  the  religious  consciousness.  Inheritance 
or  habit  or  environment  may  have  so  entangled  his  spirit  that  it 
does  not  recognize  the  source  of  the  higher  elements  in  his  life; 


264  THEORIES    OF   THE    CHURCH    AS   TO    SIN 

intellectual  difficulties  may  hinder,  or  the  presentation  of  relig- 
ion under  a  form  which  he  cannot  accept.  Such  a  man  lacks 
the  grace  of  religion  as  a  landscape  on  a  cloudy  day  lacks  the  sun- 
shine. It  is  a  different  matter  when  the  failure  to  reach  the  relig- 
ious consciousness  results  from  frivolity  or  hardness. 

The  theories  of  the  Church  have  rested  on  one  or  more  of  three 
bases:  first,  some  real  or  supposed  scriptural  authority,  second, 
philosophic  speculation,  and  third,  some  fact  or  facts  in  human 
nature.  It  is  to  be  said  in  passing  that  the  selection  of  the  passages 
from  scripture  is  usually  determined  by  some  picturesqueness  of 
statement  rather  than  by  any  critical  knowledge  of  the  text. 
Scriptural  authority  may  be  considered  the  ultimate  basis  of  the 
theories.  Yet  it  is  hardly  in  human  nature  to  accept  and  hold 
a  doctrine  on  this  basis  alone.  Man  is  a  rational  being,  and  it 
is  impossible  for  him  to  hold  any  one  view  wholly  distinct  from 
other  views.  Therefore  the  doctrine  which  he  accepts  first  of 
all  on  the  authority  of  revelation  must  be  incorporated  into  a  sys- 
tem of  philosophy;  he  must  justify  his  theory  of  sin  by  showing 
that  it  stands  in  natural  harmony  with  a  general  theory  of  life. 
Furthermore,  no  matter  how  strongly  the  authority  of  scripture 
or  philosophy  may  be  felt,  a  doctrine  will  not  stand  unless  it  appears 
to  be  supported  in  some  way  by  the  facts  of  life  and  to  some  ex- 
tent explains  those  facts. 

The  doctrine  of  the  Church  in  regard  to  sin  first  of  all  regards 
man  as  wholly  evil  and  exposed  to  the  wrath  of  God;  secondly, 
he  is  so  by  nature;  thirdly,  his  condition  is  the  result  of  Adam's 
sin.  In  the  "Formula  of  Concord,"1  a  distinction  is  made  be- 
tween man's  nature  and  the  corruption  of  that  nature.  There 
is  a  sense  in  which  human  nature  is  still  good.  God  still  makes 
it,  and  all  that  he  makes  we  may  suppose  to  be  good.  Christ  took 
man's  nature  upon  himself  but  did  not  at  the  same  time  take  his 
sin.  Sin  is  not  nature,  in  the  most  profound  sense  of  the  term, 
but  a  corruption  of  nature.  This  corruption  is  not  something 
external,  merely  hindering  goodness,  as  the  garlic  juice  that  is 
rubbed  over  a  magnet  is  said  to  prevent  the  communication  of 

x  Schaff,  The  Creeds  of  Christendom,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  93. 


THEORIES    OF   THE   CHURCH    AS   TO    SIN  %65 

its  power.  It  is  so  profound  and  universal  that  it  leaves  nothing 
sound.  In  a  sense  which,  as  the  theologians  are  careful  to  ex- 
plain, is  purely  philosophical,  sin  is  an  accident.  The  danger  in 
using  this  term  is  recognized.  In  common  usage,  to  say  that  a 
thing  is  an  accident  is  to  make  it  something  superficial.  The 
theologians  insist  that  it  must  be  taken  in  a  profound  and  philo- 
sophical sense.  As  we  have  already  seen  in  another  connection,1 
this  accident  of  sin  is  regarded  from  the  Catholic  point  of  view 
as  the  result  of  a  withdrawal  of  the  divine  grace,  whereas  from  the 
Protestant  point  of  view  it  has  been  more  generally  regarded  as 
a  corruption  of  man's  nature.2 

The  scriptural  basis  upon  which  this  doctrine  of  sin  is  made  to 
rest  is  furnished  especially  in  two  passages  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, Romans,  v,  12,  and  Ephesians,  ii,  3.  The  first  of  these  pas- 
sages as  given  in  the  King  James  version  appears  not  to  carry 
fully  the  significance  that  has  been  attributed  to  it.  But  the  trans- 
lations in  the  Vulgate,  "in  whom  all  sinned,"  and  in  the  revised 
version,  "for  that  all  sinned,"  perhaps  lend  themselves  more  easily 
to  an  interpretation  which  identifies  the  sin  of  all  with  the  sin  of 
Adam  regarded  as  a  momentary  act.  I  should  like,  however, 
to  refer  those  who  insist  upon  precision  of  translation  in  such 
cases  to  the  passage,  Romans,  iii,  23,  in  which  the  same  word  and 
the  same  tense  are  used  evidently  in  a  different  sense  and  with 
a  different  application.  It  will  be  urged  that  the  circumstances 
here  require  the  special  translation.  That  is  a  question  which 
I  will  not  discuss,  but  in  general  we  may  doubt  how  closely  Paul 
should  be  held  to  the  minuteness  of  grammatical  requirements. 
In  the  second  passage,  Ephesians,  ii,  3,  the  phrase  "by  nature 
children  of  wrath"  admits  two  interpretations,  according  as  the 
word  "  nature  "  is  understood  to  refer  to  that  into  which  a  man  is 
born  or  only  to  his  present  character.  In  this  case  the  broader 
interpretation  is  given  by  some  of  the  commentators  who  are  very 
strict  in  their  interpretation  of  Romans,  v,  12.    Meyer,  for  instance, 

i  Page  198. 

2  Jonathan  Edwards,  Doctrine  of  Original  Sin  Defended.     John  Tulloch,  The 
Christian  Doctrine  of  Sin.     Charles  Hodge,  Essays  and  Revieivs,  II. 


266  THEORIES    OF   THE    CHURCH    AS    TO    SIN 

insists  that  "  nature "  is  here  only  a  general  term  for  character. 
This,  too,  is  a  question  which  I  will  not  discuss.  But  no  study 
of  New  Testament  theology  is  complete  without  a  knowledge  of 
contemporary  thought.  The  rabbinical  doctrine  of  sin  appears 
to  have  been  similar  to  Paul's  doctrine,  but  less  strict.  It  rec- 
ognizes such  a  tendency  to  sin  since  Adam  that  practically  all  men 
are  sinners.  But  man  is  still  responsible  for  sin,  for  although  with 
very  few  exceptions  all  men  sin,  there  is  no  necessity  that  they 
should  sin.  Paul  stiffens  this  doctrine  by  lessening  the  oppor- 
tunity for  freedom.1 

Of  course  the  two  passages  to  which  I  have  referred  do  not 
stand  alone.  They  are  only  especially  emphatic  and  distinct. 
We  find  a  number  of  passages  in  both  the  New  and  the  Old  Tes- 
tament which  emphasize  the  universality  of  sin.  "There  is  none 
that  doeth  good."2  "The  heart  is  deceitful  above  all  things."  3 
We  have  to  remember,  however,  that  in  all  such  passages  the  ele- 
ment of  rhetoric  enters  largely,  not  rhetoric  in  any  artificial  sense 
but  the  rhetoric  of  passion.  These  books  of  the  Bible  were  in 
large  part  written  by  two  classes  of  persons,  on  the  one  hand  the 
prophets  and  holy  men  who  were  lashing  sin  in  others,  and  on  the 
other  hand  saints  struggling  with  sin  in  their  own  hearts.  In 
either  case,  whether  a  man  is  himself  struggling  with  sin  or  is 
exposing  the  sin  of  the  world,  whether  he  is  full  of  penitence  or 
full  of  wrath,  he  does  not  weigh  his  words  very  carefully,  and  it 
is  a  mistake  to  take  the  utterance  of  his  passion  and  base  a  dogma 
upon  it.  A  case  in  point  is  that  famous  passage  in  which  Paul 
declares  himself  chief  among  sinners.4  No  doctrine  has  as  yet 
been  based  upon  it,  and  I  do  not  suppose  that  the  most  literal 
interpreter  of  the  New  Testament  would  insist  that  Paul  was  the 
chief  of  sinners.  Yet  that  is  what  he  calls  himself,  and  when  he 
said  it,  no  doubt  he  said  it  in  earnest.  The  phrase  has  often 
been  used  since  in  imitation  of  Paul,  and  perhaps  in  the  same 
profound  sense  in  which  he  used  it.  We  can  understand  how  he 
could  feel  justified  in  applying  the  term  to  himself.     W7hen  he 

i  F.  W.  Weber,  Judische  Theologie  auf  Grund  des  Talmud. 

2  Psalm,  xiv,  1,  3.  3  Jeremiah,  xvii,  9.  4  I  Timothy,  i,  15,  16. 


THEORIES    OF   THE    CHURCH    AS   TO    SIN  267 

thinks  of  the  light  that  has  come  to  him,  and  then  of  his  cruelty 
toward  the  followers  of  Christ,  the  passion  of  his  self-condem- 
nation is  only  natural.  I  dwell  upon  this  because  it  illustrates 
the  kind  of  speech  in  which  the  Old  and  New  Testament  writers 
so  often  refer  to  sin.  The  view  that  I  have  suggested  does  not  at 
all  lessen  the  real  force  and  point  of  such  utterances.  We  are 
made  to  see  how  evil  a  thing  sin  is,  and  how  these  holy  men  hated  it. 

When  we  turn  to  the  philosophical  basis  of  the  doctrine  of  the 
Church  in  regard  to  sin,  we  find  that  strictly  speaking  it  is  rather 
a  result  than  a  basis;  that  is  to  say,  it  presents  itself  naturally 
after  one  has  accepted  the  scriptural  basis.  It  has  rested  in  gen- 
eral on  a  recognition  of  the  solidarity  of  the  race.  Presented  by 
Edwards  in  its  extreme  form,  it  has  been  softened  by  later  thought. 
Edwards  uses  the  figure  of  the  tree  and  its  branches.1  The 
branches,  he  says,  partake  in  the  act  of  the  root  and  in  its  conse- 
quences. If  the  objection  is  made  that  we  are  not  identical  with 
Adam,  he  answers  that  we  are  not  identical  with  ourselves  from 
one  moment  to  another.  Edwards  denies  any  causation  other 
than  that  of  the  divine  will.  God  can  establish  whatever  causa- 
tion he  desires,  and  therefore  he  can  connect  our  sin  with  that 
of  Adam.  We  have  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  doctrine  of  abso- 
lute individuality  is  of  comparatively  recent  growth.  The  tribe 
was  responsible  for  the  act  of  any  of  its  members,  children  and 
children's  children  were  held  accountable  for  the  deeds  of  their 
parents,  and  the  law  of  attainder  was  regarded  as  the  natural 
expression  of  a  real  relation.  The  sense  of  a  vital  connection 
between  a  man  and  his  posterity  affects  us  still.  If  you  learn 
that  your  companion  is  the  son  of  a  murderer,  very  likely  you  will 
at  first  thought  shrink  a  little  from  him.  The  instinct  is  a  rem- 
nant of  the  old  realism. 

The  third  basis  of  the  doctrine  of  sin  as  commonly  held  by  the 
Church  is  found  in  certain  facts.  The  first  of  these  is  the  univer- 
sality of  death.  Edwards  makes  much  of  this,  assuming  that 
death  came  as  a  consequence  of  sin,  that   sin  involved  death.2 

1  The  Doctrine  of  Original  Sin  Defended,  Part  IV,  Chap.  III. 

2  The  Doctrine  of  Original  Sin  Defended,  Part  I,  Chap.  II. 


268  THEORIES    OF   THE    CHURCH    AS   TO    SIN 

The  second  fact  is  the  universality  of  sin.  There  are  two  senses 
in  which  the  term  "  total  depravity "  may  be  used,  one  intensive 
and  the  other  extensive.  According  to  the  first  sense,  everything 
is  as  bad  as  it  can  be,  and  consequently  no  germ  or  beginning 
of  good  is  to  be  found  in  human  nature;  it  is  "totally  de- 
praved." In  the  other  sense  there  is  nothing  that  is  perfect; 
no  one  is  as  bad  as  he  can  be,  and  yet  no  one  can  be  wrong  in  part 
and  not  be  affected  in  his  whole  nature.  If  we  may  use  the  ex- 
pression, there  is  a  totality  of  imperfection, — "for  whosoever 
shall  keep  the  whole  law,  and  yet  stumble  in  one  point,  he  is  be- 
come guilty  of  all."  x  A  man's  virtues  are  not  quite  what  they 
would  be  if  he  were  without  faults.  Thus  a  man  has  the  virtue 
of  thrift,  but  he  has  the  vice  of  niggardliness;  is  his  thrift  a  virtue 
in  the  highest  sense,  considering  that  it  grows  out  of  a  disposi- 
tion which  disinclines  him  to  help  others  ?  Or  he  is  generous, 
but  is  also  prodigal;  has  his  generosity  the  merit  that  it  would 
have  if  there  were  not  this  prodigality  in  other  directions  ?  A 
prodigal  man  does  not  fairly  weigh  the  worth  of  that  with  which 
he  is  prodigal,  and  the  generous  man  who  does  not  weigh  the 
worth  of  what  he  gives,  of  course  has  less  merit  in  his  generosity 
than  one  who  does  fairly  weigh  the  value  of  his  gift.  The  list  of 
such  illustrations  might  be  extended  indefinitely.  It  is  as  impos- 
sible to  lower  character  in  any  one  respect  without  lowering  it 
in  all  as  it  is  to  draw  water  out  of  one  of  a  series  of  connected  ves- 
sels and  not  change  the  level  in  them  all.  Character  seeks  its 
level  as  truly  as  water.  We  are  not  made  up  of  a  bundle  of 
characteristics  or  of  faculties.  We  are  individuals,  and  if  the 
unity  of  our  character  suffers  in  one  respect  it  suffers  in  all. 

To  go  back  for  a  moment  to  the  philosophy  of  the  doctrine  of 
sin,  there  is  one  point  that  should  have  been  touched  upon, — the 
measurement  of  sin.  There  is  here  a  curious  antinomy.  Accord- 
ing as  the  sinfulness  of  sin,  its  demerit,  is  regarded  in  relation  to 
the  object  of  sin  or  in  relation  to  its  subject,  it  may  be  held  either 
that  since  sin  is  committed  against  an  infinite  God  the  demerit 
must  be  infinite,  or  that  the  sin  which  is  committed  by  a  finite 
being  cannot  be  absolute.  According  to  Edwards  there  is  an 
1  James,  ii,  10. 


THEORIES    OF   THE    CHURCH    AS    TO    SIN  269 

infinite  demerit  in  our  relation  toward  God  which  must  infinitely 
outweigh  all  merit  that  may  be  found  in  any  virtue  which  we 
possess,  and  this  view  is  often  urged  by  others.  It  would  seem, 
however,  that  sin  should  rather  be  measured  by  the  nature  of  the 
sinner. 

In  speaking  of  the  universality  of  sin,  I  said  that  there  were 
two  senses  in  which  the  term  "  total  depravity  "  might  be  used,  the 
one  intensive,  the  other  extensive.  In  this  latter  sense  the  term 
becomes  very  much  softened,  for  one  might  be  on  the  very  verge 
of  sainthood  and  still  be  considered  totally  depraved,  on  the  ground 
that  imperfection  at  any  point  involves  imperfection  everywhere. 
We  may  approach  the  same  position  in  another  way.  Suppose 
that  you  dislike  a  person.  You  dislike  everything  that  he  does. 
Even  his  virtues  have  a  certain  taint.  The  presence  of  whatever 
it  is  that  causes  you  to  dislike  him  is  felt  all  through  his  nature 
and  in  all  his  ways.  A  father  or  mother  may  sometimes  feel  in 
regard  to  a  child  who  shows  ability  and  goodness  here  and  there, 
but  is  indolent  and  careless,  that  the  very  excellence  of  the  child 
is  displeasing,  in  that  it  suggests  how  different  the  child's  life  as 
a  whole  might  be.  In  this  aspect  we  realize  a  certain  truth  in 
that  phrase  in  Isaiah  which  is  so  often  quoted,  and  sometimes 
carelessly,  "all  our  righteousnesses  are  as  filthy  rags."1  The 
highest  virtues  of  the  imperfect  life  are  tainted  and  fragmentary. 

Still  a  third  fact  to  support  the  doctrine  of  sin  is  found  in  man's 
nature.  Nature  in  this  sense  is  the  original  state  into  which  a 
man  is  born.  Now  that  state  is  one  of  self-love.  We  can  hardly 
call  it  selfishness,  because  as  yet  there  has  been  no  collision  be- 
tween what  the  individual  claims  for  himself  and  what  he  owes 
to  others.  The  infant  is  the  centre  of  its  world;  it  considers 
itself  a  king  and  is  regarded  as  such.  Here  there  is  only  inno- 
cence. But  if  the  child,  as  it  grows  up,  continues  in  this  state, 
and  still  claims  the  service  of  others,  and  considers  the  rights  of 
others  as  nothing,  then  the  state  in  which  it  has  thus  continued 
has  become  a  state  of  sin.  Are  we  still  to  call  it  nature?  It  is 
nature  in  so  far  as  it  is  the  state  into  which  a  man  is  born;  it  has 
become  sinful  as  it  has  been  persisted  in. 
1  Isaiah,  briv,  6. 


270  THEORIES    OF   THE    CHURCH    AS   TO    SIN 

Another  of  these  facts  is  the  absence  in  many  of  any  real  prin- 
ciple. They  may  show  various  good  qualities,  but  they  have 
not  really  made  them  their  own.  They  are  living  through  the 
impetus  which  they  have  received  from  their  ancestors  or  their 
environment.  Their  virtues  are  in  a  certain  sense  accidents.  If 
Paul  can  say,  "  it  is  no  more  I  that  do  it,  but  sin  which  dwelleth 
in  me,"  why  may  we  not  say  to  these  men,  "  it  is  not  you  who  do 
it,  but  right  that  dwelleth  in  you"? 

Then,  finally,  there  is  the  difficulty  that  men  experience  in 
raising  themselves  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  state,  a  difficulty  so 
great  that  if  we  look  at  it  by  itself,  such  rise  seems  to  be  an  im- 
possibility. Think  what  it  is  that  a  man  has  to  do.  The  change 
that  is  required  is  not  merely  a  change  of  belief,  or  a  change  in 
the  activities  of  the  life,  but  a  change  of  heart,  a  change  of 
affection,  a  change  by  which  the  man  shall  come  to  love  that 
which  now  he  does  not  love,  and  hate  that  which  now  he  loves. 
How  is  it  possible  for  any  one  thus  to  control  and  transform  his 
nature  ? 

These  facts  and  these  possible  points  of  view  have  been  held 
to  support  the  doctrine  of  the  Church  in  regard  to  sin,  and  to 
justify  the  use  of  terms  which  express  this  doctrine  even  if  the 
doctrine  itself  is  somewhat  broadened  and  modified.  They  are 
in  o-eneral  facts  of  human  nature  and  must  be  accepted  as  such. 
The  question  is,  what  are  we  to  do  with  them?  In  what  light 
are  we  to  regard  them?  Of  course  the  entire  aspect  of  such 
facts  will  differ  according  to  the  life  out  of  which  the  facts  in  each 
experience  have  sprung,  the  background  against  which  we  view 
them.  What  would  show  as  spots  of  darkness  against  one  back- 
ground will  appear  as  points  of  light  against  another.  In  the 
Bibliotheca  Sacra  for  January,  1880,  there  is  an  interesting  com- 
parison between  Calvinism  and  Darwinism.1  The  two  systems 
are  at  once  seen  to  have  much  in  common.  In  both  there  is 
something  of  the  same  necessity,  in  both  the  whole  of  the  past 
cleaves  to  us  in  all  our  life  and  activity.  But  whereas  according 
to  the  one  point  of  view  man  is  seen  against  the  background  of 

i  G.  F.  Wright,  Some  Analogies  between  Calvinism  and  Darwinism. 


THEORIES    OF   THE    CHURCH    AS   TO    SIN  271 

the  original  holiness  of  his  first  parents,  according  to  the  other 
the  primitive  savage  state  furnishes  the  background.  In  the  one 
case  the  movement,  if  not  itself  downward,  is  the  result  of  a 
downward  movement;  in  the  other  the  movement  is  upward. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  Calvinism  the  virtues  that  we  find  in 
human  nature  as  it  now  is  are  the  remnants  of  what  was  once 
complete;  from  the  point  of  view  of  Darwinism,  these  virtues 
are  the  beginnings  of  that  which  may  at  some  time  become  com- 
plete, or  will  at  least  tend  more  and  more  toward  completeness. 
The  difference  in  the  two  views  is  like  the  difference  in  our  feeling 
toward  the  evening  twilight  and  the  twilight  of  the  morning.  If 
we  were  to  awake  from  some  long  slumber  at  one  or  the  other 
of  the  twilight  hours,  we  might  hardly  know  for  a  little  whether 
it  were  morning  or  evening.  But  as  the  moments  passed,  what 
a  difference  there  would  be  in  our  feeling,  according  as  the  dark- 
ness or  the  light  increased!  The  evening  twilight  brings  with 
it  a  certain  sadness,  the  morning  twilight  a  sense  of  freshness  and 
of  inspiration.1 

As  regards  the  argument  that  the  difficulty  which  is  experi- 
enced in  raising  one's  self  to  a  higher  plane  implies  the  hopeless- 
ness of  man's  condition,  it  must  be  remembered  that  no  character 
is  wholly  upon  any  one  plane.  We  are  so  accustomed  to  abstract 
definitions  that  we  often  attach  to  them  more  reality  than  they 
possess.  We  speak  of  saints  and  sinners,  the  altruistic  and  the 
selfish,  the  converted  and  the  unconverted.  But  I  take  it  that 
no  term  of  the  sort  applies  absolutely  to  any  individual;  a  selfish 
man  is  something  more  than  a  selfish  man,  a  murderer  some- 
thing more  than  a  murderer.  It  is  this  that  gives  ground  for 
hope.  The  lower  elements  in  human  nature  may  react  upon  the 
higher,  but  so  may  the  higher  react  upon  the  lower.  Certainly 
the  opportunity  for  conflict  is  given,  and  with  conflict  the  oppor- 
tunity for  victory.  Furthermore,  no  life  is  left  wholly  to  itself. 
We  have  to  recognize  the  working  of  "the  power  not  ourselves 

1  Horace  Bushnell,  Sermons  for  the  New  Life,  "Dignity  of  Human  Nature 
Shown  from  Its  Ruins."  C.  C.  Everett,  Tracts  of  the  American  Unitarian  Associa- 
tion, 2d  series,  3,  "Human  Nature  Not  Ruined  but  Incomplete." 


272  OTHER   THEORIES    OF    SIN 

that  makes  for  righteousness."  Speaking  philosophically,  we 
recognize  a  teleological  principle  or  tendency  in  the  world  which 
exerts  its  pressure  upon  every  individual  life;  speaking  theo- 
logically, we  recognize  the  spirit  of  God  everywhere  striving  to 
find  entrance  into  the  individual  soul.  In  all  this  we  do  not 
expect  any  sudden  transformation,  although  it  may  take  place. 
But  we  do  look  for  an  uplifting  of  the  nature.  To  dwell  longer, 
however,  upon  this  subject  at  this  point  would  anticipate  the 
discussion  of  Conversion,  which  will  have  its  place  later.1 

There  are  theories  which  try  to  place  the  source  of  sin  in  some 
previous  state.  Thus  there  is  the  theory  held  by  Schelling,2  that 
at  some  moment  preceding  the  actual  entrance  upon  his  present 
existence  he  commits  himself  to  sin  or  to  righteousness.  The 
same  theory  from  a  somewhat  different  point  of  view  is  found  in 
the  doctrine  that  we  are  fallen  angels,  and  are  given  the  oppor- 
tunity in  this  world  to  reach  once  more  the  state  from  which  we 
have  fallen.  Such  theories,  however,  do  not  help  us  any  more 
than  does  the  doctrine  of  the  fall  of  Adam.  We  have  still  the 
fall,  the  beginning  of  the  sin,  to  account  for,  and  the  beginning 
is  as  difficult  to  explain  in  a  preceding  state  as  in  man's  present 
existence.  We  may  go  back  and  back  into  the  infinite,  but  we 
must  still  face  the  question  of  the  origin  of  sin  in  all  its  mystery. 

i  Page  456. 

2  Julius  Miiller,  Die  Christliche  Lehre  von  der  Silnde,  5th  ed.,  Vol.  II,  pp.  128- 
153. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  DOCTRINE  OF  EVIL. — EVIL  AS  INDEPENDENT  OF  SIN. — PES- 
SIMISM: THEORIES  OF  SCHOPENHAUER  AND  VON  HARTMANN. 
— EVIL   AS    DEPENDENT   UPON    SIN. 

We  have  now  to  consider  the  doctrine  of  evil.  Evil  is  dis- 
tinguished from  sin  as  referring  not  to  that  which  is  morally 
wrong  but  to  that  which  causes  suffering.  As  freedom  is  the 
negation  of  the  first  idea  of  the  reason,  and  sin  is  the  negation  of 
the  second  idea,  so  evil  is  the  negation  of  the  third  idea,  beauty. 
The  beauty  of  the  universe  consists  in  its  absolute  harmony,  and 
evil  is  the  discord  in  this  harmony.  Of  course  sin  also  is  a  dis- 
cord, but,  as  I  have  said  before,1  the  antagonism  in  sin  is  more 
fundamentally  to  the  second  idea,  goodness. 

In  considering  evil  two  distinct  questions  present  themselves : 
first,  the  question  of  evil  as  independent  of  sin,  and  second,  the 
question  of  evil  as  dependent  upon  sin.  In  the  first  place,  then, 
we  find  that  evil  exists  apart  from  sin.  It  is  found  among  the 
races  which  can  do  no  sin  as  well  as  among  those  to  which  sin  is 
possible.  Bushnell,  indeed,  regards  the  suffering  and  death 
among  the  lower  creatures  as  anticipatory  of  sin.2  As  a  jail  is 
put  up  in  some  new  settlement  before  there  are  any  criminals  to 
occupy  it,  so  evil  is  the  anticipative  effect  of  human  sin.  But 
Bushnell  is  less  strong  as  a  theologian  than  as  a  preacher.  Inde- 
pendently of  sin,  then,  suffering  arises  first  of  all  through  the 
conflict  of  man  with  his  environment.  Man  enters  upon  the 
world  under  those  same  conditions  of  the  struggle  for  existence 
which  govern  the  development  of  all  life;  he  has  to  suffer  until 
he  becomes  adapted  to  his  environment;  furthermore,  the  en- 
vironment changes,  and  each  change  requires  still  further  adapta- 
tion.    In  his  struggle  for  existence  man  has  adopted  two  methods 

1  Page  106.  2  Nature  and  the  Supernatural,  Chap.  VIL 


274  EVIL   AS    INDEPENDENT   OF   SIN 

of  defence,  first  a  hardening  by  exposure,  and  then  the  fortifying 
of  the  person  by  external  protection.  But  as  perfection  has  been 
approached  in  one  direction,  it  has  been  lost  in  the  other;  the 
adaptation  has  remained  always  imperfect.  Accident,  also,  must 
be  taken  into  account.  Finally,  the  environment  at  last  tri- 
umphs, and  like  all  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  world  man  suc- 
cumbs. 

I  need  only  hint  at  the  evil  that  is  involved  in  all  this.  Death 
itself,  physically  considered,  we  recognize  to  be  an  anaesthetic; 
it  brings  an  end  of  suffering.  Yet  if  the  suffering  of  the  indi- 
vidual who  has  died  has  ceased,  there  remains  the  suffering  which 
his  death  has  caused  for  the  friends  who  are  left  behind.  Further- 
more, the  fact  of  death  is  not  to  be  taken  by  itself.  Although 
there  are  cases  where  death  is  sudden,  without  previous  warning 
and  without  pain,  generally  it  does  not  come  in  a  moment,  but 
is  preceded  either  by  the  shrinking  and  weakening  and  dulness 
of  old  age,  however  peaceful,  or  by  the  wasting  of  disease.  It 
is  true  that  in  general  death  is  more  dreaded  at  a  distance  than 
when  it  is  close  at  hand.  One  of  the  most  striking  facts  in  war 
is  the  readiness  with  which,  as  a  rule,  soldiers  meet  death  when 
their  time  has  come.  It  is  as  though  when  life  had  reached  its 
limit  it  detached  itself,  as  fruit  falls  of  its  own  accord  when  ripe. 
Henry  Ward  Beecher  has  compared  the  dread  of  death  to  the 
dread  that  children  have  of  being  put  to  bed  in  the  daytime. 
Still,  when  all  has  been  said,  we  must  recognize  death  as  one  of 
the  most  terrible  elements  in  the  suffering  of  the  world. 

The  question  may  occur  whether  it  is  proper  to  speak  of  death, 
as  I  have  done,  as  the  triumph  of  the  environment.  Is  not  death 
the  natural  result  of  the  development  of  the  organism  itself  ?  Just 
as  we  have  among  the  flowers  the  annuals  and  the  biennials,  is 
there  not  an  appointed  term  for  man,  his  "  three  score  years  and 
ten "  ?  and  can  it  be  said  of  man  that  he  is  overpowered  by  his 
environment,  except  as  the  end  of  life  comes  before  the  fulfilment 
of  his  given  term  ?  A  ship  is  fitted  out  for  a  voyage  across  the 
ocean :  when  it  reaches  its  destined  port  it  is  no  triumph  of  any 
environment  that  coal  and  provisions  shall  have  been  exhausted. 


EVIL   AS    INDEPENDENT    OF   SIN  275 

We  have  to  remember,  however,  that  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  theory  of  development  the  term  of  duration  is  itself  the  result 
in  every  case  of  the  balance  between  the  individual  and  his  en- 
vironment. Each  stock  is  strong  enough  to  last  under  the  most 
favorable  circumstances  a  certain  time,  and  that  time  is  fixed  for 
the  descendants  by  the  strength  and  endurance  of  their  ancestors. 
Therefore  what  may  have  been  at  first  a  matter  of  chance,  the 
issue  of  a  struggle  in  the  past  between  the  individual  and  his 
environment,  becomes  at  last  a  matter  of  habit  and  is  regarded 
as  the  allotted  term  of  life  for  animal  or  plant.  The  builder  of 
a  ship  may  be  able  to  calculate  very  closely  how  long  that  ship 
is  likely  to  last,  and  we  may  say  of  it  as  of  the  plant  or  animal 
that  it  has  its  allotted  term.  Yet  we  know  that  the  ship  has 
within  itself  the  elements  of  weakness,  and  that  it  yields  itself 
finally  because  it  becomes  so  weak  that  it  is  overpowered  by  wind 
and  wave.  In  a  similar  way,  whatever  the  process  has  been  in 
the  development  of  the  plant  or  animal,  when  the  end  comes  it 
is  because  the  environment  has  overpowered  in  the  individual 
the  tendency  to  live. 

We  are  reminded  here  that  death  itself,  together  with  all  this 
struggle  of  the  individual  with  his  environment,  has  been  held  by 
the  Church  to  be  the  result  of  sin,  and  that  consequently  evil  in 
this  form  should  be  considered  as  dependent  upon  sin.  Against 
this  view  there  is  no  positive  proof  that  can  be  urged.  The 
answer  commonly  made  is  that  death  was  in  the  world  before 
man  began  his  course.  There  are  cliffs  all  made  up  of  tombs, 
the  shells  of  the  little  toilers  that  have  wrought  their  vitality  into 
the  strength  of  the  earth.  But  in  reply  it  may  be  said  that  the 
spiritual  nature  of  man  differentiates  him  from  the  lower  creatures, 
and  that  therefore  it  does  not  follow  that  because  the  lower  creat- 
ures were  mortal  man  would  also  have  been  mortal  if  he  had 
not  sinned.  But  if  there  is  no  positive  proof  that  for  man  death 
was  not  the  result  of  sin,  positive  proof  is  equally  lacking  for  the 
argument  that  it  was  the  result  of  sin.  Of  course  if  we  accept 
Paul's  statement  that  "sin  entered  into  the  world,  and  death 
through  sin"1  as  made  with  the  absolute  authority  of  certain 
1  Romans,  v,  12. 


276  EVIL   AS    INDEPENDENT    OF    SIN 

knowledge,  there  is  no  room  for  further  question.  But  it  is 
another  matter  if  we  believe  that  Paul  was  only  expressing  views 
commonly  held  by  his  contemporaries.1  So  far  as  the  account  in 
Genesis  is  concerned,  immortality  does  not  appear  to  have  been 
a  part  of  the  dower  with  which  man  began  his  course.2  In  the 
absence  of  proof  on  either  side  it  seems  to  me  to  be  the  more 
natural  presumption  that  man  should  have  entered  upon  the 
world  subject  to  the  same  law  as  that  which  governs  all  other 
forms  of  organic  life. 

We  recognize,  therefore,  that  there  is  suffering  in  life  independent 
of  sin,  that  suffering  is  bound  up  with  life.  Even  in  Spencer's 
golden  age 3  there  must  be  suffering.  For  suppose  that  men  have 
become  perfectly  altruistic.  They  will  still  be  exposed  to  the 
conflict  with  the  environment,  and  the  triumph  of  the  environ- 
ment; they  will  be  exposed  to  accidents,  using  that  word  in  its 
largest  sense;  they  will  be  exposed  to  evils  that  come  through  mis- 
takes. Suppose  a  community  that  is  wholly  altruistic,  but  does 
not  understand  the  laws  of  health  or  the  principles  of  economics. 
Then  if  sanitary  measures  are  neglected,  or  if  charity  is  applied 
in  an  unscientific  manner,  we  have  at  once  the  elements  of  possible 
unhappiness.  Spencer  might  say  that  the  altruistic  development 
should  be  accompanied  by  the  development  of  the  understanding. 
But  even  then  the  possibility  of  accident  would  still  remain. 

This  view  of  evil  which  recognizes  that  a  great  deal  of  suffer- 
ing in  the  world  is  independent  of  sin,  is  not  necessarily  pessimistic. 
For  in  the  first  place  the  evil  may  be  regarded  as  working  for  ulti- 
mate good,  and  in  the  second  place,  however  great  the  amount 
of  suffering  may  be,  happiness  may  still  preponderate.  Yet  a 
tendency  that  is  not  merely  of  the  present  time,  to  exaggerate  the 
evil  in  the  world,4  has  given  prominence  to  certain  forms  of  pessi- 

i  Page  266.  2  Genesis,  iii,  22-23.  3  The  Data  of  Ethics,  Chap.  XIV. 

4  Examples  of  this  exaggeration  are  to  be  found  in  an  article  by  Frances  Power 
Cobbe  in  the  Contemporary  Review  for  January,  1888,  and  one  by  Huxley  in  the 
Nineteenth  Century  for  March,  1888.  These  articles  are  reviewed  by  Dr.  Everett 
in  an  article  entitled  "Rhetorical  Pessimism"  in  the  Forum  for  September,  1893. 
Martineau  in  his  Study  of  Religion,  Vol.  II,  pp.  80-104,  perhaps  makes  too  light  of 
the  difficulty. 


pessimism:   Schopenhauer  277 

mistic  doctrine.  The  first  of  these  theories  that  I  will  consider 
is  that  of  Schopenhauer.1  It  is  based  upon  the  assumption  that 
whereas  suffering  is  positive,  happiness  is  merely  negative;  what 
we  call  happiness  is  only  a  lessening  of  unhappiness.  Just  as 
ice  can  never  become  warm,  but  as  it  reaches  the  point  where 
it  would  have  become  warm  ceases  to  be  ice,  so  happiness  ceases 
at  the  very  moment  when  it  might  have  become  complete.  When 
we  are  thirsty  we  enjoy  water,  but  our  enjoyment  varies  accord- 
ing to  the  degree  of  our  thirst;  as  the  thirst  lessens,  the  enjoyment 
lessens,  and  when  the  thirst  is  wholly  satisfied  enjoyment  has 
ceased.  Schopenhauer  finds  this  true  of  all  forms  of  happiness; 
what  is  called  happiness  is  always  nestling  in  the  arms  of  un- 
happiness. Furthermore,  the  fundamental  element  in  the  life 
of  the  world  and  of  the  individual  is  the  will,  and  the  will  is  never 
satisfied.  The  present  moment  is  always  like  the  spot  in  the 
landscape  that  is  shadowed  by  the  drifting  cloud;  the  sun  has 
shone  upon  it  and  will  shine  upon  it  presently  again,  but  just  now 
it  is  in  the  shadow.  So  men  think  of  themselves  as  happy  in  the 
past  or  as  about  to  be  happy  in  the  future. 

"Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be,  blest."2 

Or  to  quote  the  Buddhist  saying,  the  satisfaction  of  desire  is  like 
drinking  salt  water. 

In  so  far  as  Schopenhauer's  argument  rests  upon  the  assump- 
tion that  happiness  is  merely  negative,  it  is  easily  met;  the  recog- 
nition of  a  positive  element  in  happiness  overthrows  the  whole 
system.  Thus  the  mere  fact  that  there  are  such  vices  as  gluttony 
and  intemperance  is  enough  to  show  the  falsity  of  the  theory. 
For  these  vices  spring  from  the  pleasure  that  men  find  in  eating 
or  drinking  after  the  line  of  hunger  or  thirst  has  been  passed. 
We  all  know  how  the  positive  pleasure  in  eating  may  lead  us 
beyond  the  point  at  which  hunger  is  satisfied;  the  Roman  habit 
of  taking  an  emetic  during  a  banquet  only  illustrates  the  extent 

1  The  World  as  Will  and  Idea,  Trans,  of  Haldane  and  Kemp,  3d  ed.,  Vol.  I, 
pp.  397^20,  Vol.  II,  p.  372,  Vol.  m,  Chap.  XLVI. 

'  Pope,  Essay  on  Man,  Epistle  I,  96. 


278  pessimism:   von  hartmann 

to  which  men  may  go  in  their  desire  to  renew  or  prolong  this 
pleasure.  Schopenhauer  himself  recognizes  an  exception  to  his 
rule  in  the  case  of  esthetic  pleasure.  He  sees  that  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  beauty  man  is  for  the  time  being  lifted  out  of  the  struggle 
for  existence  and  made  free,  and  that  therefore  such  pleasure  is 
positive.  But  there  are  other  pleasures  of  a  similar  nature  with 
the  enjoyment  of  beauty,  the  pleasure  of  friendship,  of  love,  etc., 
and  these  also,  at  least  in  their  ideal  form,  are  positive. 

As  regards  the  argument  from  the  nature  of  the  will,  that  un- 
satisfied desire  in  which  Schopenhauer  finds  a  basis  for  pessimism 
is  made  by  others  a  basis  for  optimism.  Thus  Fichte  sees  in  the 
absolute  demand  of  the  spiritual  life  the  promise  of  its  eternal  con- 
tinuance and  blessedness.  Whereas  Schopenhauer  emphasizes 
the  negative  aspect  of  the  demand,  the  desire  that  is  never  satisfied, 
Fichte  lays  stress  upon  the  positive  aspect,  the  continual  advance 
and  the  renewed  satisfaction  in  it.  It  is  all  like  some  journey. 
"The  end  can  never  be  reached,"  Schopenhauer  might  say. 
"Very  true,"  Fichte  might  reply,  "but  there  will  always  be  the 
joy  of  passing  from  one  charming  region  to  another."1  It  should 
be  noticed,  however,  that  Schopenhauer  insists  that  his  doctrine 
is  not  hard  but  merciful,  especially  as  compared  with  those  doc- 
trines of  the  Church  which  assume  a  waiting  hell. 

In  so  far  as  Von  Hartmann2  claims  to  be  an  optimist  we  may 
not,  perhaps,  consider  him  a  pessimist.  He  does  indeed  say  that 
the  world  is  the  best  possible  world.  But  when  he  proceeds  to 
urge  that  the  best  possible  world  is  worse  than  none  at  all,  his 
theory  is  quite  different  from  what  would  ordinarily  be  called 
optimism.3  Von  Hartmann  sees  the  mistake  of  Schopenhauer  in 
saying  that  happiness  is  merely  negative.  He  recognizes  a  posi- 
tive happiness  in  the  world,  and  does  not  attempt  to  prove  on  any 
a  priori  principle  that  happiness  is  only  the  lessening  of  suffering. 
But  he  finds  that  the  proportion  between  the  pleasure  in  life  and 
the  pain  is  like  that  between  the  portion  of  an  iceberg  that  shows 

i  C.  C.  Everett,  Fichte's  Science  of  Knowledge,  Chap.  XIII. 

2  Philosophic  des  Unbeivussten,  7th  ed.,  Vol.  II,  C,  XIII. 

3  Sir  William  Hamilton,  Lectures  on  Metaphysics,  XLII,  XLIII. 


pessimism:   von  hartmann  279 

above  the  water  and  the  greater  bulk  that  lies  below  the  surface. 
He  makes  a  list  of  the  various  possible  forms  of  happiness,  and 
shows  how  each  of  these  involves  more  misery  than  happiness. 
This  gives  a  wholly  different  aspect  to  his  treatment  from  that  of 
Schopenhauer.  Schopenhauer's  pessimism  is  like  sad  or  plain- 
tive music.  He  had  in  him  much  of  the  poet,  and  there  is  a  cer- 
tain enjoyment  in  reading  even  his  most  extreme  statements. 
Von  Hartmann  is  more  prosaic.  He  seems  like  a  grumbler  and 
fault  finder,  and  his  complaining  lacks  the  charm  of  Schopen- 
hauer's pessimism. 

Von  Hartmann  recognizes  three  stages  or  "stadia,"  as  he 
calls  them,  of  illusion:  first,  the  thought  that  there  may  be  joy 
in  the  present  life ;  second,  the  thought  that  there  may  be  joy  in  the 
life  after  death;  and  third,  the  thought  that  there  may  be  joy  in 
a  future  state  of  the  world.  This  third  form  of  illusion  is  the 
expectation  that  happiness  may  be  reached  on  the  earth  in  some 
more  complete  stage  of  its  development;  but  life  upon  the  earth 
then,  he  argues,  will  involve  the  same  conditions  as  before.  The 
second  form  of  illusion,  the  hope  of  happiness  after  death,  is 
based  upon  religious  ideas  which  he  regards  as  illusory,  and  there- 
fore any  satisfaction  which  is  taken  in  such  a  hope  must  be  an 
illusion.  He  forgets  that  the  happiness  based  on  an  illusion  is 
very  real  if  that  illusion  is  believed;  the  joy  of  the  world  in  its 
religious  faith  remains.  As  belonging  to  the  present  life  he 
enumerates  various  deceitful  forms  of  joy.  There  is  the  joy  that 
brings  with  it  more  pain  than  pleasure.  The  delicacy  and  sen- 
sitiveness of  organization  in  persons  of  artistic  temperament  un- 
doubtedly make  possible  for  them  a  keener  pleasure,  but  at  the 
same  time  expose  them  to  greater  pain.  Thus  there  is  more  bad 
music  in  the  world  than  good,  and  the  cultivation  of  the  musician's 
ear  opens  up  to  him  more  discomfort  and  pain  than  satisfaction. 
Then  there  is  the  joy  that  brings  pleasure  to  one  but  pain  to  an- 
other, the  joy  of  the  hunter.  There  is  the  joy  that  may  bring 
more  pleasure  than  pain,  but  is  produced  at  a  cost. 

Youth  and  health  Von  Hartmann  calls  the  zero  points  in  life. 
They  are  not  in  themselves  pleasures,  they  simply  enable  one  to 


280  pessimism:   von  hartmann 

take  pleasure;  in  health  one  is  free  from  the  pain  of  illness,  and 
in  youth  one  is  free  from  the  infirmities  of  old  age.  But  here  ex- 
perience contradicts  his  theory,  for  health  and  youth  as  we  know 
them  are  not  zero  points.  In  perfect  health  there  is  a  sense  of 
physical  well-being  which  is  in  itself  a  joy;  the  very  tingling  of  the 
blood  brings  with  it  a  satisfaction.  Emerson  tells  of  the  "  perfect 
exhilaration"  that  he  has  enjoyed  when  in  good  health,  in  "cross- 
ing a  bare  common,  in  snow  puddles,  at  twilight,  under  a  clouded 
sky,"  without  having  in  his  thoughts  any  occurrence  of  special 
good  fortune,1  and  we  have  only  to  carry  his  statement  a  little 
further  to  recognize  the  fact  that  every  activity  of  life  gives  pleasure 
so  long  as  it  is  not  overdriven.  In  climbing  a  mountain  there  is 
delight  in  the  very  strain  of  the  body,  and  then,  when  one  reaches 
the  summit  tired,  the  satisfaction  in  resting  is  one  of  the  most 
exquisite  pleasures  in  life.  It  may  be  said  that  this  is  negative, 
that  the  nerves  accumulate  a  certain  amount  of  energy,  and  that 
there  is  a  sense  of  oppression  until  this  accumulation  of  energy 
is  set  free.  But  our  own  experience  tells  us  that  our  pleasure  in 
activity  and  rest  is  more  than  this,  and  that  both  the  process  of 
setting  free  one's  nervous  energy  and  the  reaction  that  follows  are 
positive  joys.  I  have  wondered  how  laborers  on  a  strike  could 
endure  standing  about  in  a  public  square  doing  nothing,  until  I 
reminded  myself  that  for  them  the  mere  rest  was  in  itself  a  delight. 
It  was  a  blacksmith  who  said  that  he  believed  himself  to  be  the 
only  man  who  thoroughly  enjoyed  Sunday,  the  sense  of  cleanness 
and  of  rest  was  such  a  pleasure  to  him. 

As  I  have  already  said,  Von  Hartmann  does  recognize  a  positive 
happiness  in  the  world.  But  he  fails  to  realize  how  largely  hap- 
piness consists  in  the  reasonable  activity  of  the  functions  of  mind 
and  body.  A  child  when  active  may  be  called  perfectly  happy, 
because  practically  all  its  faculties  are  engaged  at  the  same  time. 
As  men  grow  older  all  their  powers  are  seldom  active  at  once; 
differentiation  is  greater,  and  whole  fields  or  types  of  activity  are 
suppressed,  and  capacities  are  left  unsatisfied.  A  man's  happi- 
ness, therefore,  is  largely  a  compromise.  He  cultivates  certain 
forms  of  activity,  but  not  all,  and  those  that  are  not  cultivated 

i  Nature. 


EVIL   AS    DEPENDENT   UPON    SIN  281 

protest.  But  if  all  the  powers  of  the  man  could  be  fulfilled  as 
nearly  at  the  same  time  as  are  those  of  the  child,  he  would  be  as 
much  happier  than  the  child  as  his  capacities  are  vaster  and  more 
varied. 

What  has  been  said,  however,  needs  a  good  deal  of  qualification. 
There  is  much  that  is  unpleasant  which  cannot  be  explained. 
Take  for  instance  unpleasant  tastes.  I  do  not  know  of  any 
theory  that  explains  why  some  things  are  agreeable  and  some 
disagreeable.  Tastes  change,  they  can  be  cultivated,  and  these 
changes  show  that  there  is  no  absolute  reason  why  one  thing  should 
be  pleasant  and  another  unpleasant.  If  we  go  back  to  a  period 
where  life  is  guided  by  instinct  rather  than  reason,  we  find  pleas- 
antness or  disagreeableness  of  taste  corresponding  to  the  health- 
fulness  or  unhealthfulness  of  food.  You  may  recall  how  in  The 
Swiss  Family  Robinson  the  monkey  was  used  to  test  food  and 
discover  whether  it  was  poisonous  or  not.  It  is  possible  that  we 
may  have  some  inherited  reason  for  disliking  the  things  that  are 
unpleasant  to  us.     But  all  this  is  mere  conjecture. 

When  we  turn  to  the  question  of  evil  as  dependent  upon  sin, 
we  have  to  notice  first  of  all  that  according  to  some  forms  of  relig- 
ion all  evil  is  the  result  of  sin.  This  is  true  of  both  Buddhism  and 
Parseeism;  but  whereas  the  Buddhist  considers  evil  the  result 
of  the  wrong-doing  of  the  individual,  the  Parsee  makes  it  the 
work  of  Ahriman,  the  personified  power  of  evil.  In  his  Glaubens- 
lehre  Schleiermacher  recognizes  all  evil  as  the  effect  of  sin  except 
unavoidable  imperfection  and  necessary  stimulus.1  His  state- 
ment here  is  so  vague  that  it  amounts  to  nothing.  By  "  unavoid- 
able imperfection"  I  suppose  he  means  in  general  the  sort  of  im- 
perfection that  results  from  the  differences  in  grade  between  men; 
those  who  are  lower  in  the  scale  will  lack  some  things  which  those 
who  are  higher  will  possess.  But  just  what  imperfection  in  any 
given  case  is  unavoidable,  I  confess  I  do  not  fully  understand. 
Neither  is  it  clear  what  is  to  be  understood  by  "  necessary  stimu- 
lus." We  may  have  a  general  notion  of  the  kind  of  evil  that  is 
needed  as  a  stimulus,  but  when  we  undertake  to  draw  the  line, 

i  Der  ChrMiche  Glaube,  §§  62-75. 


282  EVIL   AS    DEPENDENT   UPON    SIN 

we  find  it  impossible  to  say  exactly  what  is  necessary,  the  degree 
of  the  stimulus  in  every  case  depends  so  entirely  upon  the  nature 
of  the  individual;  the  amount  of  temptation  which  will  rouse  one 
man  to  a  noble  life  may  have  no  effect  upon  another  or  may  over- 
power a  third.  Consequently  the  temptation  which  each  man  is 
to  meet  would  have  to  be  proportioned  to  his  nature,  and  we  should 
have  to  have  a  separate  universe  for  every  individual  exactly 
adapted  to  his  need.  Even  then  the  conflict  might  remain  doubt- 
ful, for  who  could  make  it  certain  that  the  stimulus  would  be  main- 
tained? The  response  which  one  or  another  makes  to  tempta- 
tion and  sorrow  is  like  the  response  of  a  bell  to  the  blow  that  is 
struck  upon  it.  The  bell  should  answer  the  blow  with  the  music 
that  is  its  natural  note,  but  just  as  there  may  come  a  blow  which 
will  crack  the  bell,  so  that  the  reply  thereafter  will  be  only  a  dis- 
sonance, so  the  sorrows  and  temptations  which  come  to  men  may 
overpower  and  crush  them.  We  can  reconcile  this  with  our  gen- 
eral principle  only  as  we  remind  ourselves  that  men  are  to  be 
measured,  not  by  their  apparent  success  or  failure,  but  by  the  actual 
resistance  that  they  offer  to  these  assaults.  The  men  who  fought 
at  Bunker  Hill  were  no  less  heroes  because  they  were  defeated. 

When  all  is  said,  however,  sin  must  be  regarded  as  the  cause  of 
the  greater  part  of  the  unhappiness  of  the  world.  Not  necessarily 
for  the  individual,  for  lives  are  different ;  to  some  men  their  great- 
est unhappiness  comes  through  accident  or  mistake.  But  taking 
society  as  a  whole,  the  greater  part  of  unhappiness  or  evil  results 
from  sin.  Evil  of  this  sort  falls  into  two  divisions.  In  the  first 
place  there  is  the  suffering  which  comes  to  the  individual  through 
the  sins  of  others.  We  see  the  part  that  selfishness  and  injustice 
and  greed  have  played,  either  positively  or  negatively,  the  op- 
pression that  exists  in  most  civilized  communities,  the  disregard 
of  others'  feelings,  the  failure  to  help  where  help  is  possible.  If 
all  these  forms  of  sin  were  to  be  removed,  we  can  easily  see  how 
much  less  of  evil  there  would  be.  It  is  this  that  Spencer  would 
bring  about  in  that  golden  age  to  which  I  have  already  referred,1 
when  men  shall  have  become  perfectly  altruistic.  Some  indeed 
have  held  that  such  an  altruistic  state  would  be  undesirable  and 
i  Page  276. 


EVIL   AS    DEPENDENT    UPON    SIN  283 

in  itself  an  evil,  on  the  ground  that  if  life  were  to  be  freed  from 
all  struggle  it  would  become  dull  and  commonplace.  Mill  tells 
in  his  Autobiography  how  he  was  disturbed  for  a  time  by  the  ques- 
tion whether  there  would  be  anything  left  to  live  for  when  all  the 
reforms  that  he  had  in  mind  should  have  been  accomplished.  He 
found  comfort  in  reading  Wordsworth,  for  he  was  thus  brought  into 
relation  with  the  beauty  of  nature  and  made  to  see  that  life  had  an 
esthetic  charm  which  would  remain  after  the  battle  had  been  won. 
A  life  of  esthetic  contemplation,  however,  would  be  a  life  of  rest 
and  inaction,  and  the  question  arises  whether  no  form  of  joyous 
activity  would  remain.  An  answer  is  suggested  by  the  change 
which  takes  place  in  the  course  of  the  development  of  the  world 
as  life  ceases  to  be  driven  and  is  instead  attracted  and  led.  Just 
as  a  man  who  is  not  obliged  to  labor  with  his  hands  in  order  to 
live  nevertheless  exercises  his  body  of  his  own  accord  because  he 
wishes  to,  so  in  the  spiritual  world  men  who  are  drawn  by  ideals 
of  truth  and  goodness  may  still  find  opportunity  for  full  activity, 
even  when  all  hindrances  have  been  overcome. 

Perhaps  even  more  important  than  the  suffering  which  results 
for  the  individual  from  the  sin  of  others  is  that  which  he  experi- 
ences in  consequence  of  the  sin  within  himself,  his  own  lack  of 
right  feeling.  Some  persons  are  all  the  time  in  an  attitude  of 
warfare;  they  think  themselves  persecuted,  or  they  attribute 
false  motives  to  those  about  them,  or  they  dwell  upon  the  evils  of 
life.  If  one  could  only  take  whatever  wrong  or  misfortune  may 
come  in  a  spirit  of  patience  and  forgiveness  and  trust,  much  of 
the  evil  of  the  world  would  be  removed.  In  fact,  if  we  should 
draw  a  line  through  society,  leaving  the  greater  part  of  the  external 
happiness  in  life  above,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  seeming  un- 
happiness  below,  we  should  very  likely  find  more  real  happiness 
below  the  line  than  above  it;  the  greatest  happiness  would  be 
found  not  among  those  who  appeared  to  be  better  off  than  their 
fellows,  but  among  those  whose  circumstances  appeared  to  be  less 
fortunate.  At  all  events,  happiness  and  unhappiness  do  not 
correspond  with  external  prosperity  or  adversity.  The  way  in 
which  a  man  takes  things  is  a  more  important  factor  in  his  happi- 


284  EVIL   AS    DEPENDENT    UPON    SIN 

ness  than  the  things  themselves.  If  we  say  that  this  is  a  matter 
of  temperament,  an  inheritance,  we  merely  carry  the  sin  a  little 
further  back;  instead  of  the  man  himself,  it  was  some  ancestor 
or  ancestors  who  neglected  the  elements  in  life  that  we  are  now 
considering.  Furthermore,  while  the  question  how  far  the  indi- 
vidual can  struggle  against  his  temperament  is  to  be  determined 
only  by  experience,  certainly  something  can  be  accomplished; 
the  evil  may  be  lessened  by  true  feeling,  it  is  immensely  magnified 
by  bad  feeling. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  BREACH  CAUSED  BY  SIN  AND  EVIL:  BETWEEN  MAN  AND 
HIS  ENVIRONMENT:  BETWEEN  MAN  AND  GOD. — THE  MOVE- 
MENT ON  THE  PART  OF  MAN  TO  HEAL  THE  BREACH :  SACRIFICE : 
VICARIOUS  SACRIFICE,  REAL  AND  FORMAL. — THE  MOVEMENT 
ON  THE  PART  OF  GOD  TO  HEAL  THE  BREACH:  PENALTY. — 
RETRIBUTION  AND  REFORM. — THE  NATURE  OF  THE  PENALTIES 
FOR   SIN. — THE    FINAL    HEALING   OF   THE    BREACH. 

Evil  and  sin  together  constitute  a  breach  between  man  and 
his  environment,  a  breach  of  which  some  trace  appears  even  in 
the  very  earliest  times.  In  sin  man  sets  himself  up  against  his 
social  and  spiritual  surroundings,  and  as  he  does  this  he  feels  that 
no  sympathy  exists  for  him  any  more  than  he  in  turn  has  sym- 
pathy for  those  against  whom  his  hands  are  raised.  The  sense  of 
separation  increases  with  the  awakening  of  conscience.  Not  only 
has  he  cast  out  the  world,  but  the  world  has  cast  him  out.  What 
is  true  of  sin  is  true  of  evil;  evil  also  causes  him  to  feel  that  he  is 
not  in  accord  with  his  environment. 

The  breach,  however,  is  not  merely  with  the  environment.  If 
the  divinity  is  recognized  either  as  the  sum  or  expression  of  the 
environment,  or  as  that  which  has  made  the  environment  what  it 
is,  the  separation  becomes  a  breach  between  man  and  the  divinity. 
Of  the  elements  that  have  entered  into  this  breach  there  is  first  of 
all,  in  the  case  of  the  divinities  that  are  considered  friendly,  the 
uncertainty  whether  their  friendliness  will  continue;  they  are 
friendly  so  long  as  one  keeps  on  the  right  side  of  them;  yet  the 
most  friendly  are  capricious.  In  this  capriciousness  they  are 
like  the  forces  of  nature,  of  which  indeed  they  are  often  the 
embodiment  or  personification.  The  forces  of  nature  favor  us, 
but  only  so  long  as  we  keep  them  under  control.     Fire  is  a  good 


286  THE    BREACH    BETWEEN   MAN   AND    GOD 

servant  but  a  bad  master.  The  elements  are  very  restive  under 
the  yoke  which  man  places  upon  them,  and  if  at  any  moment  he 
remits  his  care  they  rise  and  overpower  him. 

This  characteristic  of  the  divinity  is  distinctly  recognized  in  a 
high  sense  in  the  teachings  of  the  Chinese  religion;  in  a  certain 
high  sense  the  gods  are  not  to  be  trusted.  That  is  to  say,  be- 
cause a  man  has  hitherto  received  favors,  he  may  not  therefore 
look  for  a  continuance  of  them,  except  as  he  still  does  what  is 
right.  The  same  thought  appears  in  the  Hebrew  phrase,  that 
"  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons," 1  used  in  the  high  moral  sense 
that  only  so  long  as  the  individual  does  right  will  he  be  favored. 
In  a  similar  way,  but  from  a  lower  point  of  view,  the  conception 
of  the  divinity  as  no  respecter  of  persons  is  found  in  religions  of  a 
lower  order.  Here  each  individual  must  keep  the  favor  of  the 
gods  by  fulfilling  the  required  observances  according  to  the  re- 
quired manner,  or  prosperity  will  fail;  and  a  city  that  is  wanting 
in  proper  devotion  to  its  divinity  is  liable  to  the  wrath  of  that 
divinity.  There  was  often  more  danger  in  the  rites  themselves 
than  in  the  performance  of  them.  This  was  especially  true  of 
religious  observances  among  the  Romans,  for  the  same  minute- 
ness that  characterized  their  laws  was  carried  into  the  forms 
of  their  religion.  De  Coulanges  draws  a  vivid  picture  of  the  con- 
dition of  things  where  men  can  never  feel  themselves  free  from 
danger  from  the  malice  or  anger  of  some  god,  where  among  the 
multitude  of  divinities  it  is  difficult  to  know  precisely  what  divinity 
should  be  propitiated,  or  what  methods  or  rites  should  be  observed, 
and  where  any  remissness  or  mistake  will  produce  the  same 
sort  of  peril  that  would  result  from  a  mistake  in  a  matter  of  law.2 
No  doubt  De  Coulanges  exaggerates  the  feeling  of  fear  in  men 
who  lived  under  such  conditions.  To  take  continued  precau- 
tions against  evil  does  not  necessarily  imply  that  one  lives  in  terror 
of  evil.  We  lock  our  doors  without  any  special  sense  of  a  peril 
that  must  be  warded  off,  and  the  general  custom  of  insuring  prop- 
erty does  not  mean  that  people  are  in  constant  terror  of  fire.  Still 
there  is  much  truth  in  the  view  that  he  has  given.     Religion  of 

i  Acts,  x,  34.  -  The  Ancient  City,  pp.  213-280. 


THE   BREACH    BETWEEN   MAN   AND    GOD  287 

this  sort  was  to  a  large  extent  a  source  of  fear,  especially  when 
it  is  remembered  that  to  the  anxiety  lest  the  divinity  might  be 
offended  was  added  the  apprehension  that  he  might  be  seduced 
by  other  worshippers  and  go  over  to  the  enemy.  Thus  the  Vedic 
worshippers  must  be  punctilious  and  lavish  in  their  gifts  of  soma 
juice,  or  the  divinities  most  trusted  may  help  the  enemy,  provided 
that  enemy  gives  more  lavishly  and  regularly.  This  is  the  reason, 
it  is  said,  why  the  divinities  of  cities  often  were  not  named;  the 
name  was  kept  a  secret  so  that  it  might  not  be  known  to  the 
enemy. 

All  these  perils  were  connected  with  the  divinities  which  were 
on  the  whole  favorable.  But,  as  a  second  element  in  the  breach, 
there  were  also  hostile  divinities,  on  the  one  hand  demons  and 
other  beings  that  were  by  their  very  nature  enemies  of  man,  and 
on  the  other  hand  the  divinities  of  other  peoples,  the  divinities  of 
the  enemy.  When  there  was  war  upon  earth,  there  was  war  also 
among  the  divinities,  and  the  worshipper  had  to  fear  not  only 
that  he  might  lose  the  friendship  of  his  divinity,  but  that 
his  divinity  might  be  overpowered  by  the  mightier  divinity 
of  his  enemy.  Here  again  the  comparison  between  these 
divinities  and  the  forces  of  nature  suggests  itself.  For  there  are 
natural  forces  which  seem  to  be  in  themselves  hostile  to  man, 
such  as  pestilence  and  tempest  and  earthquake,  and  between 
these  and  the  forces  that  seem  friendly  men  have  to  take  their 
course,  keeping  those  that  are  most  friendly  in  subjection  lest 
they  go  over  to  the  enemy. 

Thirdly,  there  is  the  element  of  fate,  the  sense  of  absolute  limit, 
of  a  force  that  cannot  be  escaped,  of  a  barrier  against  which  men 
may  beat  but  which  they  cannot  pass,  the  consciousness  of  a  power 
to  whose  decision  even  the  gods  themselves  submit.  As  we  see 
the  various  divinities  representing  one  aspect  or  another  of  the 
forces  that  rule  the  world,  we  may  almost  regard  the  idea  of  fate 
as  that  of  the  undivided  residuum  of  the  divine  might,  not  rep- 
resented by  any  special  form,  but  remaining  after  all  these  special 
forms  have  been  constructed  from  it.  Akin  to  the  consciousness 
of  fate  is  the  thought  of  the  jealousy  of  the  gods,  the  feeling  that 


288  THE    BREACH    BETWEEN    MAN    AND    GOD 

if  any  human  being  has  prosperity  beyond  a  certain  point,  the 
gods  become  jealous  of  him  and  bring  suffering  upon  him.  Thus 
Herodotus  tells  the  story  of  how  Amasis,  the  king  of  Egypt,  re- 
fused to  form  an  alliance  with  Polycrates  on  the  ground  that  Poly- 
crates  was  so  prosperous  that  there  must  come  to  him  some  change 
of  fortune.  Such  a  view  is  not  unnatural.  In  all  games  of  chance 
a  course  of  uninterrupted  success  is  always  followed  by  a  suc- 
cession of  reverses,  and  so  far  as  life  may  be  considered  a  matter 
of  chance  rather  than  of  skill,  the  same  result  may  be  expected. 
The  ancient  thought  of  the  jealousy  of  the  gods  finds  its  counter- 
part in  the  proverb  that  we  use  so  commonly,  "  pride  goeth  before 
a  fall." 

Finally  there  enters  into  the  breach  between  man  and  his  en- 
vironment, or  man  and  the  divinity,  the  element  of  suffering  and 
death.  Suffering  is  obviously  a  form  of  evil,  and  of  suffering 
death  is  the  climax.  It  is  true  that  it  was  met  fearlessly  in  the 
ancient  world.  Often  it  was  accepted  in  place  of  what  would 
seem  to  us  a  much  lighter  evil.  Among  the  Romans  suicide  not 
only  was  not  uncommon  but  was  considered  often  worthy  of  a 
certain  reverence.  We  find  even  Epictetus  using  so  light  a  com- 
parison as  to  ask,  "  Is  the  house  smoky  ?  If  only  a  little,"  he 
answers,  "I  will  stay;  if  very  smoky,  I  will  go  out.  For  you 
must  always  remember  that  the  door  is  open."1  Sometimes 
also  the  life  after  death  is  spoken  of  with  enthusiasm.  Thus  we 
read  of  one  who  to  reach  Plato's  Elysium  leaped  into  the  sea, 
and  Cicero's  exaltation  in  his  treatment  of  this  theme  is  familiar 
to  us  all.2  Nevertheless,  the  attitude  toward  death  was  on  the 
whole  one  of  apprehension  and  dread.  The  life  beyond  was  re- 
garded as  a  place  of  shades,  a  world  of  unrealities.  The  most  that 
men  could  hope  for  from  death  was  peace.  Furthermore,  the 
apprehension  was  intensified  by  the  thought  of  sin  and  the  penalty 
for  sin.  No  doubt  sin  in  the  thought  of  the  ancient  world  was  in 
part  formal,  but  it  would  be  a  great  mistake  not  to  regard  it  as 
also  to  a  certain  extent  real.  Anything  by  which  the  gods  were 
offended  was  regarded  as  sin,  whether  it  was  the  omission  of  a 

i  Discourses,  Book  I,  Chap.  XXV.  De  Senedute,  XXI-XXIII. 


SACRIFICE  289 

form,  or  a  mistake  in  some  ceremonial,  or  what  we  should  con- 
sider sin.  It  would  be  a  grave  mistake  to  eliminate  this  sense 
of  sin,  and  to  disregard  its  power  in  the  lives  of  men. 

There  have  been  two  methods  of  healing  the  breach.  On  the 
one  hand  is  the  attempt  from  man's  side  through  sacrifice,  and 
on  the  other  a  movement  on  the  part  of  the  divinity  through 
penalty  or  retribution.  Perhaps  nothing  is  more  often  misunder- 
stood than  the  term  "sacrifice"  and  what  it  represents.  It  is 
often  understood  as  the  transference  of  a  penalty,  as  though  in 
sacrificing  some  animal  a  man  conceived  that  although  he  him- 
self deserved  punishment,  the  punishment  could  be  transferred 
to  the  animal,  and  thus  the  law  be  satisfied  or  the  offended  deity 
appeased  while  the  man  himself  went  free.  Incidentally  some 
such  element  may  have  entered  into  the  thought  of  sacrifice,  but 
if  so  it  came  in  very  late.  If  we  ask  what  was  the  nature  of  sac- 
rifice when  men  first  began  to  offer  it,  we  find  that  it  was  simply 
a  gift  to  the  divinity.  There  was  no  thought  of  a  transference 
of  sin  or  penalty,  but  the  worshipper  brought  to  the  divinity  some- 
thing which  he  believed  the  divinity  would  like.  In  his  relation 
with  the  divinity  the  man  acted  precisely  as  he  would  have  done 
in  relation  to  other  men.  If  a  man  has  offended  his  neighbor  he 
seeks  to  do  something  that  will  please  him;  if  it  is  a  judge  before 
whom  he  is  being  tried,  he  resorts  to  bribery;  if  some  ruler  is 
angry  with  him  for  good  cause,  and  he  wishes  to  remove  his  ill 
will,  he  makes  him  a  present  of  a  lamb  or  some  other  animal  that 
is  good  for  food.  One  may  say  that  in  a  certain  sense  the  animal 
has  borne  the  man's  fault,  for  the  man  was  in  fault  and  the  animal 
has  suffered  in  his  stead.  But  the  suffering  of  the  animal  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  result;  the  man  simply  presented  the  other 
person  with  something  that  he  liked,  and  incidentally  it  happened 
that  this  something  must  be  put  to  death  before  it  could  be  pre- 
sented. This  is  exactly  what  happens  in  the  earlier  sacrifice  to 
the  gods.  The  suffering  and  death  of  the  animal  are  incidental 
to  the  offering,  but  not  at  all  essential  to  it.  A  good  illustration 
of  the  point  that  we  are  considering  is  found  in  the  similarity  that 
appears  between  offerings  made  to  the  spirits  of  the  dead  and 


290  SACRIFICE 

those  made  to  the  gods.  Spencer  uses  this  similarity  as  an  argu- 
ment to  prove  that  all  divinities  were  developed  out  of  spirits  of 
the  dead.1  As  I  have  said  elsewhere,2  in  the  course  of  a  some- 
what fuller  treatment  of  the  question  of  sacrifice,  Spencer's  rea- 
soning in  regard  to  this  matter  seems  to  me  entirely  wrong,  but 
it  does  illustrate  the  point  that  I  am  making,  that  the  offerings 
made  to  the  divinities  were  of  the  kind  which  were  supposed  to  be 
pleasing  to  them,  and  if  suffering  and  death  were  involved,  it  was 
only  because  the  gift  could  not  be  made  in  any  other  way. 

This  is  equally  true  of  later  forms  of  sacrifice.  When  the 
Hebrew  psalmist  represents  God  himself  as  urging  the  useless- 
ness  of  animal  sacrifice,  saying  "  If  I  were  hungry,  I  would  not 
tell  thee,"  and  bidding  the  worshipper  to  offer  "the  sacrifice  of 
thanksgiving,"  3  it  is  plain  that  in  the  time  of  this  writer  at  least 
the  sacrifice  was  supposed  to  be  simply  an  offering  to  the  divinity 
of  that  which  was  acceptable  to  him.  In  the  only  instance  in 
Hebrew  ceremonial  in  which  the  sins  of  the  offender  are  openly 
and  obviously  identified  with  the  animal  and  are  put  upon  it  so 
that  it  becomes  the  bearer  of  them,  this  animal,  the  scapegoat, 
is  not  sacrificed  but  is  sent  out  into  the  wilderness;  it  is  to  bear 
the  sins  away,  not  to  suffer  for  them.4 

The  use  of  blood  would  seem  to  be  one  of  the  most  obvious 
methods  of  connecting  the  sacrifice  more  closely  with  the  person 
who  is  offering  it.  It  reaches  its  most  extreme  development  in 
the  Taurobolium  of  the  later  Roman  ceremonial.5  In  this  the 
worshipper  places  himself  under  a  perforated  platform  upon  which 
the  victim  is  slaughtered,  and  as  the  blood  runs  through,  the 
worshipper  is  literally  bathed  in  it.  This  may  have  been  only  to 
identify  as  closely  as  possible  the  gift  and  the  giver,  so  that  the 
divinity  should  see  the  giver  through  the  blood  of  the  gift,  and 
his  satisfaction  in  the  gift  thus  be  made  inseparable  from  satis- 

i  The  Principles  of  Sociology,  3d  ed.,  Vol.  I,  Chap.  XIX. 

*  The  Gospel  of  Paul,  p.  12. 

3  Psalm  1.  4  Leviticus,  xvi,  21. 

5  Gaston  Boissier,  La  Religion  Romaine,  Vol.  I,  p.  442. 


VICARIOUS    SACRIFICE  291 

faction  with  the  giver.  It  is  possible  also  that  we  have  here  an 
example  of  the  principle  to  which  W.  Robertson  Smith  first  called 
attention  in  the  use  of  sacrifice  to  renew  or  intensify  the  sense  of 
tribal  community  between  the  worshipper  and  the  divinity. 1 

The  human  sacrifice,  in  which  the  value  of  the  offering  reaches 
its  consummation,  offers  no  exception  to  the  general  principle. 
The  sacrifice  is  still  the  gift  to  the  divinity  of  that  which  shall  be 
most  pleasing  and  most  serviceable  to  him.  It  is  thus  that  the 
Chinese  noble,  in  praying  for  the  recovery  of  his  sick  brother, 
offers  to  die  himself  in  his  stead;  the  noble  tells  his  ancestors 
not  only  that  his  brother  is  needed  upon  the  earth,  but  that  since 
he  himself  is  accustomed  to  serve,  he  can  be  of  more  use  to  them 
in  the  heavenly  state  than  his  brother  could  be.2  Furthermore, 
the  fact  that  human  sacrifices  appear  to  have  been  made  quite  as 
often  in  times  of  joy  as  in  times  of  disaster  indicates  that  they 
were  not  offered  with  any  idea  of  substitution. 

In  what  I  have  been  saying  I  have  already  suggested  that  there 
are  two  uses  of  the  term  "vicarious."  A  man  may  kill  some 
pheasants  and  by  the  gift  of  them  may  appease  his  judge;  the 
death  of  the  pheasants  may  be  said  to  have  been  in  a  sense  vica- 
rious, but  it  was  not  necessary  to  appease  the  judge.  Suppose 
that  a  city  is  besieged  and  that  the  garrison  make  a  sortie.  Some 
of  the  men  are  killed,  but  the  city  is  freed.  These  men  who  were 
killed  suffered  vicariously  for  all  the  rest,  but  their  death  was  an 
incident  only  in  what  they  did,  for  the  enemy  might  have  been 
driven  away  without  any  loss  on  the  part  of  the  besieged.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  the  enemy  had  given  the  town  its  freedom  on 
condition  that  half  a  dozen,  let  us  say,  of  its  citizens  should  first 
have  been  put  to  death,  the  aspect  of  the  sacrifice  is  entirely 
changed.  In  "real"  vicariousness  death  is  only  incidental;  where 
death  is  essential  we  have  "  formal "  vicariousness.  So  far  as 
ancient  sacrifices  appear  to  have  been  in  any  sense  vicarious, 
their  vicariousness  Avas  "real";    death  was  the  incident  and  not 

1  Lectures  on  the  Religion  of  the  Semites,  pp.  236  f.,  257  f. 

2  Shu-king,  Part  V,  Book  VI. 


292  penalty:   retribution 

the  essential  thing  in  the  transaction.  The  view  of  sacrifice  as 
formally  vicarious  crept  into  the  Christian  world  in  connection 
with  certain  theories  in  regard  to  the  death  of  Christ.  As  the 
Church  came  to  hold  the  doctrine  that  Christ  vicariously  and  for- 
mally suffered  for  the  sins  of  men,  preceding  sacrifices  were  ex- 
plained on  the  same  principle,  and  "  real "  terms  concerning  them 
were  interpreted  formally. 

The  second  method  of  bridging  the  gulf  between  men  and  the 
divinity  was  by  the  act  of  the  divinity,  through  penalty.  Sac- 
rifice attempted  by  perpetual  offerings  to  keep  the  account  square. 
Penalty  wiped  out  the  debt  by  exacting  payment  in  full.  Pen- 
alty is  generally  recognized  under  three  aspects :  first,  as  warning, 
where  a  person  suffers  for  a  crime  in  order  that  others  may  be 
deterred  from  it;  second,  as  retribution;  and  third,  as  reform. 
The  first  aspect  does  not  concern  us  here.  We  are  considering 
penalty  only  as  a  method  of  healing  the  breach,  and  penalty  con- 
sidered as  a  warning  does  not  affect  the  relations  of  the  individual 
who  has  committed  the  crime;  he  is  punished  for  the  sake  of 
others.  We  may  notice  in  passing,  however,  that  in  the  opinion 
of  many  people  this  is  the  only  aspect  in  which  penalty  may 
properly  be  recognized  by  the  state.  According  to  their  view  the 
state  has  the  right  to  do  no  more  than  is  required  for  self- 
defence. 

In  approaching  penalty  in  its  second  aspect,  as  retribution,  we 
have  to  recognize  the  fact  that  there  is  in  most  men  the  feeling  that 
sin  deserves  punishment.  Often  there  is  a  sense  of  joy  when  the 
punishment  has  been  inflicted.  People  who  are  in  other  respects 
sympathetic  and  affectionate  show  a  certain  exultation  in  the 
acute  suffering  of  any  one  who  has  caused  suffering  in  others.  It 
is  true  that  this  sense  is  less  keen  today  than  in  some  former 
periods  of  the  world's  history,  and  that  with  the  tendency  to  look 
upon  punishment  only  as  a  means  of  reformation,  many  shrink 
from  the  thought  of  suffering,  even  in  the  case  of  those  who  are 
guilty.  But  to  many  healthy  minds  this  leniency  appears  ex- 
cessive. I  shall  not  discuss  the  question  here.  It  is  enough 
for  us  to  recognize  the  general  prevalence  of  the  sense  of  satis- 


RETRIBUTION  293 

faction  in  the  punishment  of  sin.  However  much  it  may  have 
been  mitigated  in  the  progress  of  the  years,  either  by  true  senti- 
ment or  by  a  false  sentimentality,  it  still  remains,  and  the  mildest 
of  philanthropists  would  probably  feel  something  of  a  pang  if 
the  wrong-doer  should  go  unpunished.  Even  the  criminal  him- 
self shares  the  feeling;  not  infrequently  a  man  gives  himself  up 
and  makes  confession  of  his  guilt  voluntarily,  partly,  it  may  be, 
because  he  fears  discovery,  but  also  because  of  the  restless- 
ness of  conscience,  the  sense  that  the  balance  is  against  him, 
and  that  relief  can  come  only  when  the  balance  is  made  right. 
This  is  perhaps  the  view  that  is  commonly  held  in  regard  to 
penalty  as  retribution, — that  it  is  a  righting  of  the  balance.  It  is 
the  view  that  Hegel  takes  in  general,  but  he  adds  something  which, 
so  far  as  I  know,  is  peculiar  to  himself.  Retribution,  he  suggests, 
recognizes  to  a  certain  extent  the  rights  of  the  criminal.  That  is 
to  say,  it  accepts  the  law  which  practically  he  himself  has  laid 
down.1  "You  believe  in  violence,"  it  says  to  him.  "Very  well, 
let  violence  be  the  law,  and  we  will  apply  it  to  you."  It  accepts 
the  wrong-doer  as  his  own  arbiter,  and  makes  him  pronounce  his 
own  sentence.  We  have  here  an  illustration  of  that  irony  which 
to  a  certain  extent  underlies  the  whole  process  of  the  Hegelian 
system.  Each  partial  position  is  accepted  and  allowed  to  work 
itself  out  until,  simply  because  it  is  partial,  it  works  its  own  de- 
struction. 

It  is  possible  that  the  demand  for  retribution  may  be  allied  to 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation.  This  instinct  intensifies  itself 
into  vengeance,  blinds  itself  into  justice.  Altruism  renders  the 
feeling  of  the  individual  stronger  against  the  wrongs  done  to 
others  than  against  those  done  to  himself;  thus  Jesus  is  indignant 
at  the  suffering  of  the  poor  and  helpless,  but  prays  God  to  for- 
give the  men  who  are  putting  him  to  death.  The  question,  how- 
ever, for  us  to  answer,  but  which  I  must  leave  for  the  time  being 
unanswered,  is  whether  there  is  an  absolute  basis  for  this  feeling. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  questions  that  we  have  to  meet.     If 

i  The  Logic  of  Hegel,  W.  Wallace,  pp.  233,  243.     Werke,  Berlin,  1832,  Vol. 
XII,  p.  19. 


294  REFORM 

a  man  has  done  wrong,  how  does  his  suffering  right  the  wrong? 
How  does  the  breach  of  a  man's  privilege  in  any  way  counter- 
balance the  injury  which  he  may  have  done  to  others  ?  Yet  a 
world  in  which  there  should  be  no  retribution  would  seem  to  us 
a  false  world.  In  fiction,  although  poetic  justice  does  not  always 
demand  that  the  innocent  should  be  rewarded,  it  does  invariably 
demand  that  crime  shall  meet  its  penalty.  But  what  we  demand 
of  fiction  is  what  we  demand  of  life.  We  are  willing  that  in 
fiction  the  innocent  sufferer  should  sometimes  fail  of  any  compen- 
sation, because  that  is  what  we  so  often  see  in  life.  We  demand 
that  the  guilty  shall  be  punished,  not  because  it  is  what  we  always 
see  in  life,  but  because  it  is  what  we  demand  of  life. 

As  I  have  already  suggested,  however,  there  is  a  growing  feeling 
that  all  punishment  should  aim  at  reform.  It  is  this  feeling 
which  underlies  the  objection  to  the  death  penalty,  and  because 
of  it  no  form  of  demagogism  more  quickly  excites  indignation  than 
that  which  would  forbid  useful  labor  to  the  prisoner;  to  condemn 
a  man  to  a  life  of  idleness  or  of  unproductive  toil  is  to  degrade 
him.  But  how  does  punishment  reform?  At  first  thought  there 
seems  to  be  something  illogical  in  the  idea,  and  this  illogicalness 
is  often  urged  against  it.  Here  is  a  boy  who  is  not  fond  of  his 
books,  or  who  has  the  habit  of  lying.  The  boy  is  whipped.  What 
logical  connection  is  there  between  his  dislike  of  books  or  his  habit 
of  lying,  and  the  whipping  which  is  to  correct  him  ?  It  may  be 
that  through  fear  of  another  whipping  the  boy  will  study  and  will 
not  allow  himself  to  be  caught  lying,  but  has  he  become  either 
studious  or  truthful  ?  Have  you  not  rather  made  him  sullen  or 
sly  or  craven  ?  Without  insisting  on  the  advantage  of  this  method, 
it  is  often  found  to  produce  an  effect  precisely  the  opposite  of  this, 
for  instead  of  becoming  sullen  the  boy  who  is  punished  becomes 
more  tender-hearted  and  affectionate,  and  instead  of  losing  his 
spirit  he  becomes  more  manly.  There  is  a  sense  of  justice  in  the 
boy,  and  he  must  not  have  reason  to  think  that  he  has  been  pun- 
ished unjustly.  But  if  he  recognizes  the  justice  of  the  punishment, 
he  bears  no  ill  will;  he  takes  account,  also,  of  the  feeling  with 
which  the  punishment  is  given.     Of  course  we  see  that  children 


RETRIBUTION   AND    REFORM  295 

have  sometimes  been  spoiled  by  undue  chastisement.  There 
may  be,  and  doubtless  there  are,  better  methods  of  correction. 
There  are  different  methods  of  cleaning  a  coat;  it  may  be  beaten 
or  it  may  be  brushed.  There  is  in  some  a  genius  for  teaching 
which  can  dispense  with  punishment.  But  we  are  not  studying 
the  best  methods  of  education.  We  are  simply  asking  how  it  is 
that  punishment  can  produce  in  any  case  the  good  effect  which  it 
does  produce,  when  its  tendency  would  seem  to  be  more  naturally 
toward  precisely  the  opposite  result. 

We  shall  find  it  helpful  at  this  point  to  recall  the  definition  of 
sin  as  selfishness.  When  selfishness  is  examined  closely  it  is  found 
to  involve,  either  as  its  basis  or  as  a  corollary,  a  certain  pride. 
Here  is  an  individual  who  lives  for  himself  alone;  whether  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously  he  acts  on  the  assumption  that  he  is 
worth  more  than  the  whole  universe  besides,  that  his  smallest 
joy  is  more  important  than  the  greatest  pleasures  of  other  people, 
his  least  suffering  of  more  account  than  the  deepest  sufferings  of 
others;  he  makes  himself  the  center  of  the  universe.  Here  is 
the  very  embodiment  of  pride.  Now  punishment  may  at  least 
humble  this  pride.  Take  the  case  of  the  boy.  Punishment 
may  rid  him  of  his  conceit.  He  has  been  feeling  too  important 
altogether,  making  his  pleasure  of  more  account  than  the  tasks 
required  of  him  or  than  the  duty  of  truthfulness,  and  he  is  made 
to  realize  that  he  is  a  poor,  weak  boy,  who  is  at  the  mercy  of  those 
about  him;  he  learns  to  know  his  place.  In  the  great  words  of 
the  parable,  words  which  stand  at  the  very  centre  of  all  discussion 
of  sin  and  punishment  and  repentance,  the  individual  who  is 
thus  humbled  "comes  to  himself,"1  and,  coming  to  himself,  he 
comes  to  the  perception  of  his  natural  relation  to  the  things  about 
him. 

This  loss  of  pride  or  conceit,  in  coming  to  one's  self,  appears  in 
all  the  various  forms  of  retribution  and  their  practical  application, 
whether  the  retribution  be  the  retribution  of  vengeance  or  the 
retribution  of  justice.  Thus  a  person  is  eager  to  take  revenge 
upon  his  enemy;  the  vengeance  is  incomplete  unless  the  enemy 
can  be  humbled  and  made  to  feel  his  weakness,  unless  he  can  be 
i  Luke,  xv,  17. 


296        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  PENALTIES 

made  subject,  or,  perhaps  better,  abject;  if  the  enemy  pre- 
serves his  pride,  if  he  smiles  serenely  back,  the  vengeance  is  in- 
complete. Browning  has  given  the  classic  example  of  such  failure 
in  the  retribution  of  revenge  in  his  Instans  Tyrannus,1  where 
the  tyrant  tries  to  smite  down  his  enemy;  but  the  enemy  con- 
quers, at  first  through  his  indifference,  and  then  at  the  last 
through  the  prayer  to  God  which  causes  the  tyrant  himself  to  fear. 
In  the  same  way  Prometheus  conquers  Zeus  by  remaining  stead- 
fast under  his  torment. 

In  the  highest  form  of  humiliation  self  is  given  up.  The  in- 
dividual no  longer  constitutes  himself  the  centre  of  the  universe, 
but  finds  his  life  in  the  realities  that  are  about  him.  Humility 
is  a  term  that  is  often  misunderstood.  It  is  apt  to  bring  to  mind 
a  person  who  is  conscious  of  his  own  abasement  or  inferiority. 
But  such  self-consciousness  really  involves  a  certain  pride.  Why 
should  this  man  compare  himself  with  others  ?  Why  should  he 
think  of  himself  as  inferior  to  others  ?  Why  should  he  refuse  to 
sing  because  others  may  sing  more  skilfully  ?  True  humility 
is  the  self-forgetfulness  of  the  child.  It  is  to  live  in  the  realities 
that  surround  one,  taking  one's  place  naturally,  without  thought 
of  its  lowliness.  It  is  at  this  point  that  we  return  again  to  our 
doctrine  of  penalty  as  retribution,  for  at  this  point  retribution  and 
reform  meet.  Retribution  seeks  to  accomplish  by  violence  that 
which  reform  strives  to  make  voluntary.  Retribution  would 
crush  the  individual  who  asserts  himself  against  the  universe, 
reform  endeavors  to  bring  him  to  the  point  at  which  he  will  gladly 
surrender  himself. 

What  is  the  nature  of  the  penalties  for  sin  ?  They  may  be 
either  artificial  or  natural,  but  of  these  the  artificial  penalties 
may  be  left  out  of  account,  at  least  for  the  present.  For  what 
we  want  to  see  is  the  inevitable  connection  between  the  sin  and 
the  penalty,  and  when  the  penalty  is  inflicted  from  without  the 
inevitableness  of  the  connection  is  not  apparent  but  the  con- 
nection seems  rather  to  be  only  accidental.  The  natural  pen- 
alties for  sin  are  those  results  to  which  the  sin  naturally  leads.  If 
a  man  is  selfish  and  arbitrary,  he  becomes  unlovable;  people 
1  Dramatic  Romances. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  PENALTIES        297 

may  serve  him,  but  only  because  they  must.  If  a  man  lies,  he 
finds  himself  no  longer  believed,  even  when  he  may  be  telling  the 
truth;  his  lies  and  his  truthfulness  alike  fail  him.  In  business 
dishonesty  is  the  worst  policy,  for  business  is  done  on  credit,  and 
the  dishonest  man  cannot  maintain  his  credit.  Again,  if  a  man 
gives  himself  to  intoxication  and  licentiousness,  he  is  sapping  the 
vitality  of  his  physical  and  mental  strength. 

But  real  and  terrible  as  these  results  of  sin  are,  they  still  do  not 
satisfy  our  demand  for  retribution.  They  sometimes  fail,  and 
what  we  demand  is  not  only  that  the  penalty  shall  be  natural 
but  that  it  shall  be  infallible.  But  the  most  selfish  man  is  some- 
times the  most  beloved.  What  an  affection  followed  Napoleon! 
How  his  soldiers  worshipped  him !  We  may  say  that  he  was  not 
wholly  selfish,  but  the  fact  remains  that  he  was  largely  selfish. 
We  may  say  that  people  did  not  know  how  selfish  he  was,  but 
that  is  not  the  question.  Our  point  is  only  that  here  was  a  very 
selfish  man  who  still  was  widely  and  greatly  loved.  Again,  can 
we  affirm  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy  absolutely  in  this  world  ? 
Suppose  preachers  to  speak  out  this  whole  thought,  would  it 
be  for  their  worldly  good  ?  Is  not  the  person  who  is  most  suc- 
cessful very  often  the  one  who  is  not  absolutely  honest  but  "in- 
different honest "  ?  Certain  men  have  been  dishonest,  and  known 
to  be  dishonest,  who  nevertheless  have  acquired  great  wealth  and 
have  become  leaders  in  the  financial  world.  The  man  who  is 
best  adapted  to  his  social  environment  is  most  often  the  one  who 
succeeds,  and  the  environment  may  determine  the  standard  of 
his  virtue.  Finally,  men  may  indulge  in  sensual  excesses  and 
still  to  all  appearance  preserve  their  vigor  unimpaired. 

If  we  turn  to  conscience,  we  find  that  its  rebuke  is  also  uncer- 
tain. Some  of  the  best  men  in  the  world  are  those  whose  con- 
sciences trouble  them  the  most;  the  higher  a  man's  standard  the 
more  likely  is  he  to  have  a  keen  and  sensitive  conscience.  Con- 
science is  also  uncertain  in  that  men  are  often  more  concerned 
because  of  petty  weaknesses  than  on  account  of  their  graver  wrong- 
doing. 

Furthermore,   the    natural   punishments   are   often    dispropor- 


298  THE    NATURE    OF   THE    PENALTIES 

tionate.  A  man's  environment  is  made  up  of  various  strata  or 
systems  of  laws,  using  the  term  "law"  in  the  impersonal  sense, 
and  whatever  the  system  that  is  violated,  the  man  must  expect 
to  suffer  the  penalty.  No  matter  what  the  spirit  is  in  which  the 
law  is  violated,  whether  ignorantly  and  without  a  purpose,  or 
with  a  good  purpose,  or  with  a  sinful  purpose,  the  punishment 
comes  in  every  case  alike.  It  takes  no  account  of  motives,  it 
regards  only  the  facts.  A  child  may  fall  into  the  fire  through  some- 
one's carelessness,  a  man  may  enter  into  it  to  save  another's  life, 
and  both  are  burned;  the  fire  does  not  consider  motives.  Over- 
work of  the  eyes  ruins  them;  Milton  thus  abuses  his  sight  in  a 
good  cause,  and  he  becomes  blind.  And  in  a  similar  way,  if 
Socrates  violates  the  ethical  and  religious  laws  of  his  environ- 
ment and  suffers,  he  suffers  not  because  he  is  good,  but  because 
he  has  violated  the  public  sentiment  of  his  time.  For  what  is 
true  of  physical  law  is  also  true  when  we  rise  above  the  realm  of 
physical  law  and  enter  the  realm  of  duty.  There  are  lower  duties 
and  there  are  higher  duties,  and  though  it  may  be  for  the  sake 
of  a  higher  duty  that  we  violate  the  lower,  we  must  still  pay  the 
penalty.1  It  is  in  its  recognition  of  this  conflict  between  duties 
that  Greek  tragedy  differs  so  widely  from  the  modern  drama. 
In  the  modern  drama  it  is  usually  guilt  which  is  punished  as  guilt, 
and  the  conflict  is  between  guilt  and  innocence.  In  Greek 
tragedy  we  have  to  do  not  so  much  with  guilt  and  its  punish- 
ment as  with  the  conflict  between  duties,  the  recognition  of  law 
above  law.  Orestes  avenges  his  father  but  slays  his  mother. 
The  gods  have  urged  him  on,  but  none  the  less  he  is  pursued  by 
his  mother's  furies.  One  may  violate  the  law  of  the  family  for 
the  law  of  the  state,  or  the  law  of  the  state  for  the  law  of  the  fam- 
ily, but  in  either  case  the  penalty  must  be  paid. 

Two  elements,  then,  are  necessary  to  the  perfect  punishment 
of  sin, — certainty  and  proportionateness.  Neither  of  these  is 
fulfilled  in  the  natural  penalties.  We  find  the  complete  punish- 
ment of  sin  only  in  sin  itself,  either  a  deeper  sin  or,  if  there  is 
repentance,  in  the  pain  of  the  struggle  with  which  sin  is  relin- 

i  C.  C.  Everett,  Science  of  Thought,  pp.  209-221. 


THE    NATURE    OF   THE    PENALTIES  299 

quished.  Either  sin  becomes  fastened  upon  the  sinner  more 
terribly  than  before,  or  else  he  recognizes  his  sin  and  makes  the 
wrong  right,  but  only  with  suffering.  Obviously  this  sort  of  pun- 
ishment is  both  certain  and  proportionate.  It  may  seem  at  first 
thought  to  lack  the  terror  that  punishment  should  carry  with  it. 
We  may  ask  what  fear  a  man  who  loves  sin  can  have  before  a 
punishment  which  consists  in  fastening  sin  upon  him.  But  have 
we  not  here  a  hint  of  the  terrible  nature  of  the  punishment,  that  a 
man's  whole  being  should  become  so  degraded  as  to  lose  its  dread 
of  spiritual  death?  It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  be  conscious  of  one's 
own  degradation.  But  suppose  that  that  very  consciousness  is 
lost!  No  doubt  there  may  be  less  pain  in  consequence,  but  the 
spectacle  will  not  be  on  that  account  more  cheering.  A  man 
cruelly  wounded  may  rejoice  in  the  cessation  of  his  pain,  when  the 
physician  sees  in  it  only  the  beginning  of  mortification  and  death. 
The  question  whether  the  punishment  of  sin  may  ever  become 
capital,  so  that  the  whole  spiritual  life  is  at  an  end,  is  one  which 
we  cannot  attempt  to  answer  here.  But  the  thought  of  such  a 
possibility  may  account  in  large  measure  for  the  horror  of  sin  that 
is  felt  by  the  healthy  spirit. 

From  a  wholly  different  point  of  view  a  punishment  of  sin  is 
found  in  the  loneliness  which  results  when  in  the  extreme  of 
selfishness  the  individual  has  cut  himself  off  from  that  communion 
with  his  fellows  and  the  world  in  general  which  constitutes  the  true 
life  of  men.  It  is  true  that  there  is  also  a  loneliness  of  holiness, 
the  loneliness  of  the  saint.  But  this  is  not  a  real  loneliness.  For 
the  love  of  the  individual  still  goes  forth  and  embraces  even  those 
who  are  most  opposed  to  him;  although  others  may  not  recognize 
him  as  their  fellow,  he  still  feels  himself  one  in  the  great  body 
of  mankind.  The  real  loneliness  is  that  which  a  man  makes  for 
himself  when  his  own  sympathies  are  so  shut  in  that  there  is  no 
exit  for  them,  when  there  is  no  play  for  the  great  beatings  of  the 
heart.  That  is  the  absolute  loneliness.  Repentance  may  indeed 
replace  it,  or  interrupt  the  progress  toward  it,  but  the  struggle  of 
the  individual  in  the  attempt  to  rise  will  correspond  to  the  degree 
of  his  sin. 


300  THE    FINAL    HEALING    OF   THE    BREACH 

We  have  recognized  the  existence  of  a  breach  between  man  and 
his  environment.  We  have  seen  how  attempts  have  been  made 
to  heal  this  breach  through  sacrifice,  and  how  the  gulf  has  been 
bridged  in  a  negative  sense  through  retribution.  But  the  breach 
itself  still  remains;  the  blood  of  bulls  and  goats  cannot  take  away 
sins.1  We  come  now  to  the  point  where  we  must  recognize  the 
fact  that  suddenly  there  appeared  in  the  world  a  religion  bearing 
certain  marks  which  differentiated  it  from  all  the  religions  that 
had  preceded  it.  In  the  first  place  it  was  a  religion  without  the 
rites  of  sacrifice.  Secondly,  whereas  in  the  classic  religions  espe- 
cially the  element  of  fate  was  present,  in  this  religion  we  find  in- 
stead a  recognition  of  providence.  Thirdly,  suffering,  hitherto 
looked  upon  as  one  of  the  chief  elements  in  the  breach,  is  now 
accepted  and  glorified.  Finally,  death,  which  has  been  feared  as 
the  great  enemy  of  man,  is  welcomed  with  joy. 

In  the  palace  of  the  Vatican  there  is  a  long  gallery  in  which  the 
opposite  walls  are  covered,  one  with  inscriptions  from  the  pagan 
columbaria,  the  other  with  inscriptions  from  the  Christian  tombs. 
On  the  one  side  we  read  again  and  again  the  words  "In  Pace"; 
on  the  other  wall,  "  In  Spe."  In  Spe.  The  element  of  hope  has 
entered,  and  men  are  enabled  to  regard  death  as  a  blessing. 
Obviously  in  some  way  or  other  the  breach  has  been  healed. 
Something  has  been  done,  or  men  believe  that  something  has 
been  done,  which  has  closed  it.  We  enter  here  upon  the  third 
general  division  of  our  examination.  In  the  first  division  we  have 
considered  the  moment  of  affirmation,2  and  in  the  second  the  mo- 
ment of  negation.3  We  have  now  to  consider  the  moment  of 
reconciliation. 

i  Hebrews,  x,  4.  2  Chapters  I-XI.  3  Chapters  XII-XXIV. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  THIRD  GENERAL    DIVISION  OF  THE    DISCUSSION:     RECONCILIA- 
TION.  THE      DOCTRINE      OF     THE      ATONEMENT. THE      "  CUR 

DEUS    HOMO"     OF    ANSELM. PETER     LOMBARD    AND     THOMAS 

AQUINAS. THE  REFORMATION. THE  SOCINIANS  AND  GROTIUS. 

— THE  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  ATONEMENT  AS  INVOLVING  THE 
PRINCIPLE  OF  VICARIOUS  SUFFERING. THE  CHANGE  OF  AT- 
TITUDE TOWARD  VICARIOUS  SUFFERING:  THE  EXPLANATION 
OF  IT  SUGGESTED  BY  COMTE's  THEORY  OF  THE  HUMAN  UN- 
DERSTANDING. 

It  may  seem  as  though  we  were  only  now  beginning  our  ex- 
amination of  the  content  of  Christian  faith.  But  that  content 
is  both  general  and  special,  and  in  its  general  aspect  it  involves 
all  the  various  questions  that  we  have  been  considering.  Of 
the  doctrines  that  are  specifically  Christian  we  find  that  in  the 
history  of  the  Church  three  have  been  regarded  as  fundamental, 
the  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation,  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement, 
and  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  Of  these  the  doctrine  of  the 
Incarnation  is  the  most  fundamental.  For  the  doctrine  of  the 
Atonement  to  a  large  extent  has  been  developed  in  order  to  ac- 
count for  the  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation.  God  became  flesh; 
for  this  mighty  act  there  must  have  been  some  adequate  mo- 
tive; this  motive  is  found  in  the  theory  of  the  Atonement. 
Anselm  brings  this  out  most  strikingly  in  his  great  treatise  on 
the  Atonement,  Cur  Deus  Homo.  The  doctrine  of  the  Trinity 
appears  also  to  have  grown  out  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Incar- 
nation. 

Although  the  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation  is  the  more  fundamen- 
tal, we  shall  find  it  helpful  to  study  the  doctrine  of  the  Atone- 
ment first.     At  the  very  outset,  however,  we  have  to  observe  that 


302  THE    DOCTRINE    OF   THE   ATONEMENT 

there  is  no  orthodox  doctrine  of  the  Atonement.  That  is  to  say, 
no  one  form  of  the  doctrine  has  been  recognized  so  long  or  so  in- 
variably as  to  claim  for  itself  the  authority  of  the  Church.  The 
one  thing  to  which  the  Church  has  held  throughout  is  that  in 
some  way  or  other  man  is  saved  through  Christ,  and  that  in  this 
work  of  salvation  the  death  of  Christ  has  been  a  very  important 
element.  But  the  great  question  remains,  how  does  Christ  save 
the  soul,  and  to  this  question  there  have  been  various  answers. 
Down  to  the  time  of  Anselm  the  leading  thought  is  that  Christ 
saved  man  from  the  devil  by  giving  himself  into  the  devil's  power; 
in  seizing  the  body  of  Christ  the  devil  committed  an  act  of  such 
unrighteousness  that  he  lost  his  power  over  the  souls  of  men. 
By  violating  the  law  of  God  man  had  come  into  the  power  of  the 
devil.  Not  that  the  devil  had  really  any  right  over  him ;  the  right 
was  only  in  seeming,  for  both  the  devil  and  man  were  rebellious 
servants.  If,  now,  the  devil  could  be  induced  to  overstep  his 
rights,  man  would  be  freed  from  any  appearance  of  duty  to  the 
devil.  This  is  effected  by  the  incarnation.  The  divine  man 
appears  among  men,  wholly  sinless,  and  offers  himself  in  the  way 
of  the  devil.  It  is  like  bait  upon  a  hook.  The  devil  seizes  this 
bait  and  himself  becomes  the  prey.  To  state  it  more  generally, 
the  devil,  by  causing  the  death  of  an  innocent  soul,  loses  his  power 
over  all  who  identify  themselves  with  Christ  by  putting  their  trust 
in  him.  This  is  the  view  that  is  taken  by  Augustine,  who  states 
it  very  clearly.1  He  emphasizes  the  thought  that  the  devil  was  to 
be  conquered,  not  by  the  power  of  God,  but  by  the  justice  of 
God,2  that  men  might  see  the  importance  of  acting  with  justice 
rather  than  injustice.  Although  nothing  was  found  in  Christ 
worthy  of  death,  the  devil  slew  him.  Therefore  it  was  just  that 
those  debtors  of  his  should  be  freed  who  believed  on  him  whom 
without  any  debt  he  had  killed.  Thus  it  is,  Augustine  adds  in 
a  most  impressive  manner,  that  we  are  said  to  be  justified  in  the 
blood  of  Christ.3  It  may  be  said  in  passing  that  passages  in  Co- 
lossians  *  and  Hebrews  5  possibly  furnished  some  ground  for  this 

i  De  Trinitate,  IV,  xiv,  etc.  2  XIII,  xiii.  3  XIII,  xiv. 

*  Colossians,  ii,  15.  5  Hebrews,  ii,  14. 


anselm's  "cur  deus  homo"  303 

view  of  the  atonement,  although  they  should  be  explained  other- 
wise. 

With  the  teaching  of  Anselm,  in  his  Cur  Deus  Homo,  we  reach 
a  turning-point  in  the  development  of  the  doctrine.  Ever  since 
Anselm  the  view  that  he  held  has  been  the  germ  of  those  views 
which  have  the  strongest  claim  to  be  considered  orthodox. 
At  the  same  time  his  statement  of  the  theories  that  were  current 
in  his  day  as  to  the  nature  of  the  work  of  Christ  illustrates  what 
I  have  said  of  the  absence  of  any  distinctively  orthodox  doctrine 
in  regard  to  it.  The  treatise  of  Anselm  is  written  in  the  form  of 
a  conversation;  a  monk  is  introduced,  as  a  learner  rather  than  a 
controversialist,  who  proposes  the  questions  which  Anselm  an- 
swers. Quite  early  in  the  treatise  Anselm  insists  upon  the  fitness 
of  the  method  by  which  the  Deus-homo  saved  men.  Since  it  was 
through  a  woman  that  man  had  been  lost,  it  was  fitting  that  he 
should  also  be  saved  through  a  woman,  and  since  it  was  through 
the  enjoyment  of  the  tree  that  the  devil  had  conquered,  it  was 
fitting  that  the  devil  should  be  conquered  by  the  passion  of  the 
tree.  At  this  point  Anselm  recognizes  that  man  should  properly 
be  the  servant  of  whoever  should  save  him.  Then  follows  a  most 
interesting  statement  of  the  things  from  which  man  is  held  to  have 
been  saved  by  the  death  of  Christ, — his  own  sins,  the  divine  anger, 
hell,  the  power  of  the  devil.1  The  list  shows  plainly  how  con- 
flicting are  the  theories  of  the  time  as  regards  the  atonement,  and 
how  prominent  still  is  the  idea  of  salvation  from  the  power  of  the 
devil.  It  is  also  plain  from  the  references  made  by  Anselm  that 
the  theory  was  still  prevalent  that  it  was  proper  that  the  devil 
should  have  been  conquered  by  the  justice  of  God,  and  also  the 
theory  that  although  man  deserved  punishment,  the  devil  had 
no  right  over  him,  because  both  were  the  servants  of  God.2 

In  the  eighth  section  of  the  first  book  we  are  told  that  God 
did  not  really  suffer.  When  we  say  that  the  Deus-homo  suffered, 
we  understand  that  the  suffering  was  only  in  respect  of  his  human 
substance.  But  ought  God  to  have  caused  an  innocent  one  to 
suffer  ?     He  suffered  willingly,  is  the  reply.     Still,  it  is  urged,  he 

i  Book  I,  §  vi.  2  Book  I,  §  vii. 


304  ANSELM  S       CUR    DEUS    HOMO 

was  commanded  to  suffer.  Jesus  owed  obedience  to  God,  is  the 
further  reply,1  but  not  to  death,  for  only  one  who  had  sinned  de- 
served death.  Therefore  death  was  not  required  of  Christ.  Yet 
God  could  not  free  man  without  it,  though  he  did  not  ask  the 
sacrifice,  and  Christ,  knowing  the  desire  of  God,  freely  gave  him- 
self. It  was  because  Christ  wished  to  save  man  that  God  gave 
him  the  command.  Christ's  will  to  save  man  ran  in  advance  of 
the  expressed  will  of  God,  and  just  as  we  tell  a  person  how  to  do 
a  thing  which  we  know  that  he  longs  to  do  and  which  we  consider 
desirable,  so  God  laid  his  command  upon  Christ  as  the  direction 
by  which  he  might  perform  that  which  he  himself  desired  to  ac- 
complish.2 We  are  told  further  that  no  mere  man  can  be  free 
from  sin,  nor  can  he  be  blessed  without  this  freedom.  This  leads 
to  the  fundamental  question,3  what  is  sin?  Sin,  we  are  told, 
consists  in  withholding  from  God  that  which  is  his  due.  What 
is  God's  due  ?  That  the  entire  will  of  the  rational  creature  should 
be  subject  to  the  will  of  God.  The  will  to  accomplish  this  sub- 
jection pleases  God  even  if  one  is  unable  to  carry  it  out.  Who- 
ever does  not  do  this  takes  honor  from  God,  and  this  is  to  sin. 

But  why  does  not  God  forgive  sin  outright?4  It  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing,  is  the  reply,  for  the  private  individual  to  forgive 
offences  against  himself  and  for  the  ruler  of  a  kingdom  to  do  so. 
For  if  the  ruler  were  thus  to  forgive  offences,  disorder  would  be 
introduced  into  the  kingdom,  and  justice  be  made  less  free  than 
injustice.  Yet  God  commands  us  to  forgive?  Yes,  but  it  is 
because  vengeance  belongs  to  God  alone.  But  if  God  is  free 
and  wholly  loving,  why  can  he  not  forgive  ?  Liberty  is  for  what  is 
fitting,  and  benignity  does  not  imply  anything  that  is  unworthy 
of  God.  Whatever  God  wills  is  right.  Yet  if  God  should  will 
that  which  is  wrong,  the  fact  that  he  had  willed  it  would  not  make 
the  wrong  right;  it  would  show  that  God  was  no  longer  God. 
Nothing  is  less  to  be  borne  than  that  honor  should  be  taken  away 
from  God.5  For  if  there  is  no  punishment,  God  shows  himself 
either  unjust,  or  else  impotent  to  preserve  his  honor  or  to  avenge 

i  Book  I,  §  ix.  2  Book  I,  §  x.  3  Book  I,  §  xi. 

4  Book  I,  §  xii.  5  Book  I,  §  xiii. 


anselm's  "cur  deus  homo"  305 

the  loss  of  his  honor.  But  if  God  loses  his  honor,  does  he  regain 
it  by  punishment  ?  l  God  does  not  lose  it,  is  the  reply.  Either 
man  pays  it  voluntarily,  or  God  takes  it  by  force.  Can  God 
suffer  his  honor  to  be  lessened  at  all  ? 2  No  one  can  really  add 
to  or  take  from  God's  honor.  He  who  serves  God  is  said  to 
honor  him,  and  he  who  does  not  serve  him  is  said  not  to  honor 
him,  but  in  reality  neither  affects  God's  honor. 

In  the  sixteenth  section  the  question  is  approached  from  a 
new  point  of  view.  God  will  restore  the  number  of  the  fallen 
angels  from  man.  Why  not  create  new  angels  to  fill  the  place 
of  those  who  have  fallen  ?  3  New  ones  would  not  be  on  the  same 
footing,  is  the  not  very  obvious  reply.  Then  will  there  be  in  the 
future  more  saints  than  there  were  bad  angels?4  Apparently 
there  will  be.  But  if  men  are  to  replace  the  fallen  angels  they 
must  be  like  the  good  angels.5  Is  this  possible  for  those  who 
have  sinned  unless  satisfaction  has  been  paid  ?  What,  then,  shall 
be  the  satisfaction?6  Satisfaction  should  be  more  than  what 
is  due.  The  Bible  promises  forgiveness  upon  repentance,  but 
this  promise  holds  only  for  those  who  have  looked  for  Christ 
or  have  received  him. 

In  the  twenty-first  section  one  of  the  most  fundamental  ques- 
tions is  presented.  Of  what  weight  is  sin  ?  We  are  told  that  if 
one  tells  you  to  look  one  way  and  God  says  "No,"  it  would  be 
better  that  the  universe  should  perish  than  that  you  should  dis- 
obey God.  Furthermore,  the  satisfaction  must  be  more  than 
the  sin;  the  whole  universe  would  not  balance  sin,  and  the  satis- 
faction must  be  more  than  the  balance.  Man  was  placed  in 
Paradise  without  sin,  to  live  aright  and  to  shame  the  devil,  but 
he  yielded  to  the  devil.7  If  man  could  not  stand  then,  what  can  he 
do  now?  By  conquering  the  devil  man  must  restore  to  God 
what  he  took  from  him  in  yielding  to  the  devil.8  Man  cannot 
be  saved  without  paying  what  he  owes.  But  how  is  this  to  be 
done?     Only  through  Christ.9 

i  Book  I,  §  xiv.  2  Book  I,  §  xv.  3  Book  I,  §   xvii. 

*  Book  I,  §  xviii.  5  Book  I,  §  xix.  6  Book  I,  §  xx. 

7  Book  I,  §  xxii.  s  Book  I,  §  xxiii.  9  Book  I,  §§  xxiv,  xxv. 


306  aNselm's  "cur  deus  homo" 

At  the  beginning  of  the  second  book  it  is  stated  that  man  was 
created  righteous  in  order  that  he  might  be  happy  by  enjoying 
God,  and  that  if  he  had  not  sinned  he  would  not  have  died.1  In 
the  resurrection  body  man  must  be  what  he  would  have  been 
if  he  had  not  sinned.  For  God  must  finish  what  he  began;  it 
is  foreign  to  God  that  any  rational  nature  should  wholly  perish. 2 
This  is  a  very  strong  statement, — stronger,  no  doubt,  than  Anselm 
intended.  But  if  God  acts  thus  by  a  necessity  of  his  nature, 
why  should  we  be  grateful?  Although  he  acts  by  necessity,  is 
the  reply,  he  still  acts  also  from  love. 3  One  must  be  able  to  give 
to  God  more  than  all  besides. 4  But  no  one  can  do  this  except 
God,  and  no  one  is  bound  to  do  it  except  man.  Therefore  it  must 
be  done  by  the  God-man.  Here  we  have  the  kernel  of  the  whole 
discussion.  In  the  God-man  the  two  natures  must  be  perfectly 
united  and  each  must  be  perfect  in  itself. 5  There  are  four  ways 
in  which  the  Deus-homo  could  be  produced;  from  the  union 
of  man  and  woman  in  the  ordinary  manner  of  birth;  from  earth, 
like  Adam;  from  man  alone,  like  Eve;  from  woman  alone.  The 
last  way  has  not  been  tried,  and  it  is  well  to  try  it ;  and  further- 
more since  sin  has  come  from  woman,  so  let  redemption  also  come 
from  woman,  that  woman  may  not  despair.6  Why  should  it  be 
the  second  person  of  the  Trinity  rather  than  the  first  who  enters 
into  the  union  ?  Because  if  the  Father  had  become  incarnate,  there 
would  have  been  two  grandchildren  in  the  Trinity.  The  Father 
would  have  been  the  grandchild  of  Mary's  father,  and  the  Son 
would  have  been  the  grandchild  of  Mary.  This  would  be  unfitting. 
Moreover  it  is  more  fitting  that  the  Son  should  pray  to  the  Father 
than  that  the  Father  should  pray  to  the  Son. 7 

Christ  was  under  no  obligation  to  die,  for  Christ  could  not  sin. 
But  if  this  is  so,  why  should  we  honor  him  for  his  holiness  ?  God 
and  the  angels  cannot  sin,  is  the  answer,  and  yet  we  honor  them.8 
Is  not  the  Deus-homo  mortal  because  of  the  human  part?  Not 
necessarily,  for  if  Adam  had  not  sinned  he  would  not  have  been 

i  Book  II,  §§  i,  ii.  2  Book  II,  §§  iii,  iv.  3  Book  II,  §  v. 

4  Book  II,  §  vi.  5  Book  II,  §  vii.  6  Book  II,  §  viii. 

i  Book  II,  §  ix.  s  Book  II,  §  x. 


ANSELM  S   CUR  DEUS  HOMO  307 

mortal.  Christ  is  free  to  die  or  not  to  die.  But  if  man  fell 
through  pleasure,  is  it  not  fitting  that  he  should  be  saved  through 
suffering?1  After  a  consideration  of  the  possibility  of  the  divine 
suffering,2  the  question  is  asked  whether  Christ  put  on  ignorance 
as  well  as  mortality.  The  reply  is  that  all  was  done  of  his  own 
knowledge.3 

How  can  the  death  of  Christ  suffice  for  the  sins  of  the  world  ? 
Would  you  slay  him  knowingly,  is  the  counter-question,  to  escape 
the  guilt  of  the  world?  No.  Then  his  life  is  immeasurably 
more  precious  than  all,  and  outweighs  all.  You  would  willingly 
take  upon  yourself  all  the  other  sin  of  the  world  to  escape  the 
sin  of  knowingly  putting  to  death  the  God-man.  4  How  is  it, 
then,  with  those  who  killed  him?  Are  they  not  beyond  the  pos- 
sibility of  redemption?  They  did  it  ignorantly?5  How  is  it 
with  those  who  were  born  before  Christ?  They  also  share  in 
the  benefit  of  his  death.8  In  the  discussion  in  regard  to  free- 
dom which  follows,7  an  interesting  circle  occurs:  Christ  could 
be  born  only  of  a  pure  virgin;  the  virgin  could  be  pure  only 
through  the  death  of  Christ;  therefore  Christ  must  die  in  order 
that  it  might  be  possible  for  him  to  be  born. 

The  Deus-homo  ought  not  to  be  without  remuneration.  If 
nothing  is  given  to  him  he  will  seem  to  have  done  his  work  in 
vain.  Yet  what  can  the  Father  give  him  ?  However,  he  can 
transfer  his  merit  to  others,  and  to  whom  should  he  transfer  it 
rather  than  to  men.  God  can  reject  no  one  who  comes  in  his 
name.8  After  a  discussion,  first  of  the  divine  mercy,  and  then  of 
the  question  whether  the  fallen  angels  as  well  as  men  are  recon- 
ciled to  God  in  the  death  of  Christ,  the  argument  ends  with  the 
conclusion  that  everything  in  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  is 
justified.9 

I  have  dwelt  upon  this  treatise  of  Anselm's  at  such  length 
because  of  its  importance  in  showing  both  how  late  was  the  devel- 
opment of  the  doctrine  of  the  atonement  and  how  loosely  it  was 

i  Book  II,  §  xi.  2  Book  II,  §  xii.  3  Book  II,  §  xiii. 

*  Book  II,  §  xiv.  s  Book  II,  §  xv.  6  Book  II,  §  xvi. 

7  Book  II,  §§  xvii,  xviii.  «  Book  II,  §  xix.  »  Book  II,  §§  xx-xxii. 


308  PETER    LOMBARD 

held  even  then.  There  is  a  certain  grandeur  in  the  argument 
in  spite  of  what  seems  to  us  the  pettiness  in  some  of  the  questions 
and  answers.  We  need  not  notice  here  the  contradictions  of  a 
superficial  nature  which  occur.  But  a  more  fundamental  diffi- 
culty is  found  in  the  statement,  first  that  man  must  pay  the  debt, 
and  then  that  the  Deus-homo  can  transfer  his  merit  to  man.  What 
is  more  important  to  notice,  however,  is  the  precise  manner  in 
which  Anselm  views  the  atonement.  He  regards  it  rather  as  a 
transfer  of  merit  than  as  a  satisfaction  or  penalty  suffered  for 
another,  and  it  was  the  great  merit  of  Jesus  in  undergoing  what 
was  for  him  a  needless  death  which  deserved  reward.  The 
element  of  sacrifice  has  its  place  in  the  discussion,  but  this  other 
element  appears  to  be  more  prominent.  The  use  which  Anselm 
makes  of  the  thought  is  illustrated  in  his  Admonitio  Morienti,1  when 
he  says,  "  I  offer  his  merit  for  the  merit  which  I  should  have  but 
have  not."  Sin,  according  to  Anselm,  is  a  mere  negation;  he 
uses  the  figures  of  a  beast  without  a  chain,  a  ship  without  a  helm ; 
that  which  is  absent  constitutes  the  sin.2  As  regards  Anselm's 
central  doctrine,  what  surprises  us  is  that  he  does  not  support 
it  by  any  Biblical  authority;  he  assumes  from  the  New  Testa- 
ment the  fact  of  an  atonement,  but  the  form,  the  method,  of  this 
atonement  he  constructs  for  himself  on  general  grounds.  Ritschl 
calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  Anselm's  theory  was  in  accordance 
with  the  Germanic  law,  by  which  either  the  wrong-doer  might 
he  punished  or  satisfaction  made, — a  principle  foreign  to  either 
Greek  or  Roman  law.3 

According  to  the  view  of  the  atonement  held  by  Peter  Lombard,4 
justification  takes  place  in  two  ways:  the  love  of  God  removes 
sin,  and  Christ  frees  men  from  the  power  of  the  devil  by  suffering 
death.  The  devil  had  rushed  into  the  strong  man's  house,  seized 
us  as  vessels  and  filled  us  with  bitterness,  but  God  poured  out  the 
bitterness  and  filled  the  vessels  with  sweetness.     Christ  offered 

i  Opera,  p.  194.  2  De  Casu  Diaboli,  X-XI. 

3  Die  Christliche  Lehre  von  der  Rechtfcrtigung  und  Versohnung,  3d  Ed.,  Vol.  I, 
p.  40. 

4  Sententiarum  Libri  Quahior,  Lib.  Ill,  "De  Incarnatione  Verbi." 


THOMAS    AQUINAS:     THE    REFORMATION  309 

himself  to  the  Trinity  and  not  to  the  devil,  although  primarily 
the  devil  supposed  that  he  could  get  Christ  into  his  power  as 
a  man,  and  being  thus  deceived  lost  his  apparent  power  over 
man. 

When  we  come  to  Thomas  Aquinas,  we  find  that  his  views  in 
regard  to  the  atonement  are  somewhat  confused.1  He  seems  to  be 
trying  to  bring  together  certain  elements  which  do  not  belong 
together.  The  method  recommends  itself  to  us,  he  says,  be- 
cause it  commends  God's  love  to  us  and  gives  us  an  example. 
Again,  man  is  bound  by  sin  both  to  God  and  to  the  devil,  to  God 
as  judge  and  to  the  devil  as  tormenter;  man  is  to  be  redeemed  out 
of  regard  to  God,  not  out  of  regard  to  the  devil.  Again,  the  devil 
puts  to  death  Christ  who  did  not  deserve  it.  And  again,  Christ's 
death  frees  from  punishment  for  sin  in  two  ways:  first,  directly, 
because  through  the  infinite  nature  of  Christ  the  satisfaction 
given  is  more  than  enough,  and  secondly,  indirectly,  through 
its  influence  upon  man.  Thus  three  elements  are  presented, — 
the  satisfaction  that  is  given  to  God,  the  price  paid  to  the  devil, 
and  the  subjective  influence  upon  man  himself.  Of  these  the  price 
paid  to  the  devil  and  the  subjective  effect  are  on  the  whole  brought 
out  most  distinctly.  In  the  matter  of  the  infinite  sacrifice  Thomas 
Aquinas  is  opposed  by  Duns  Scotus,  who  insists  that  it  was  not 
God  who  suffered,  but  Christ's  mortal  body.2 

I  will  not  dwell  longer  upon  these  earlier  statements.  The 
Reformation  gathered  up  all  the  scattered  elements.  It  welded 
together  and  wrought  out  the  whole  system  of  doctrine  into  sharp- 
ness and  definiteness.  Together  with  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity 
the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement  was  developed.  Luther  added 
what  had  been  lacking  in  the  argument  of  Anselm.  Anselm  had 
not  made  it  clear  why  the  death  of  Christ  was  pleasing  to  God. 
Luther  shows  how  Christ  in  his  own  person  should  not  suffer, 
but  because  he  took  upon  himself  the  sin  of  the  world,  there- 
fore he  must  hang  upon  the  cross.  Forsaken  of  God  for  a  little 
while,  he  bears  on  his  body  the  sin  of  all,  and  atones  for  them  with 

i  Summa  Theologica,  Part  III,  Q.  XLVI-XXIX. 

2  R.  Seeberg,  Die  Theologie  des  Johannes  Duns  Scotus. 


310  THE    SOCINIANS 

his  own  blood.  Luther  brings  out  the  relation  of  Christ  to  the 
individual  sinner  with  a  peculiar  distinctness  and  picturesqueness. 
When  Christ  came  into  the  world,  he  says,  God  threw  upon  him 
all  our  sins,  saying  "Thou  art  David,  thou  art  Paul,"  etc.  As 
regarded  Biblical  authority,  Luther  found  to  a  certain  extent  what 
he  was  looking  for  in  Galatians,  iii,  13. 

It  often  happens  that  just  when  an  organization  is  complete, 
it  begins  to  fall  to  pieces,  and  hardly  does  the  doctrine  of  the 
Atonement  reach  its  full  development  before  a  process  of  disinte- 
gration begins.  This  is  due  in  large  part  to  the  work  of  Socinus 
and  his  followers.  First  they  insisted  that  Christ  could  not 
have  offered  an  infinite  sacrifice  for  sin.  For  Christ  suffered  only 
for  a  very  short  time,  and  the  most  intense  suffering  for  a  limited 
period  is  as  nothing  compared  with  the  eternal  suffering  to  which 
man  was  liable.  If  it  is  said  that  the  suffering  is  greater  in  so 
far  as  he  who  suffers  is  infinite,  so  also  is  the  power  to  endure  the 
suffering  greater.  But  even  the  suffering  of  an  infinite  being 
cannot  take  the  place  of  eternal  suffering.  Furthermore,  if  it 
is  granted  that  Christ  has  offered  infinite  atonement,  it  is  im- 
possible to  speak  of  the  forgiveness  of  God,  or  of  man's  gratitude, 
for  before  God  remitted  the  penalty  he  had  required  an  absolute 
satisfaction.  Here,  however,  an  antinomy  must  be  recognized 
which  may  affect  the  strength  of  this  position.  If  Christ  is  con- 
sidered distinct  from  God,  the  Socinian  argument  holds;  in  that 
case  man  would  owe  no  gratitude  to  God.  But  if  the  Son  is  re- 
garded as  God,  and  if  the  penalty  was  owed  to  him  as  well  as  to 
the  Trinity,  then  the  aspect  of  the  case  is  somewhat  changed. 

In  the  third  place  the  Socinians  urged  that  the  law  was  no 
longer  binding;  since  the  penalty  for  sin  had  been  paid  in  full, 
man  had  full  liberty  to  do  what  he  would.  Within  certain  limits 
Paul  had  said  this  very  thing  as  strongly  as  it  could  be  said.  But 
the  Socinians  went  beyond  Paul.  For  whereas  Paul  had  de- 
clared simply  that  the  redeemed  were  no  longer  under  the  law 
but  under  grace,  and  that  they  had  no  disposition  to  do  wrong, 
the  Socinians  insisted, — and  this  was  the  fourth  point  in  their 
argument, — that   since  the  offering   of   Christ   was   absolute   and 


GROTIUS  311 

infinite  it  included  all,  and  universal  salvation  must  follow.  In 
other  words,  God  had  no  right  to  add  further  conditions.  The 
whole  price  had  been  paid,  past,  present,  and  future,  and  all 
debtors  were  now  free.  For  suppose  a  number  of  us  had  owed 
a  great  debt  to  an  earthly  creditor,  and  someone  had  paid  it  all, 
what  right  would  the  creditor  have  to  make  further  conditions  ? 
It  might  be  suggested,  in  defence  of  the  original  doctrine,  that  the 
person  who  had  paid  the  debt  might  possibly  have  a  right  to 
make  conditions.  But  this  involves  a  complexity  of  relations 
into  which  I  will  not  enter. 

The  argument  of  the  Socinians  was  very  ingenious.  It  threw 
the  emphasis  on  the  moral  effect  of  the  death  of  Christ.  As 
applied  to  the  various  aspects  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Church,  con- 
sidered in  its  absoluteness,  it  put  the  whole  matter  in  a  new  light. 
But  if  their  criticism  was  ingenious,  it  was  not  more  so  than  the 
defence  that  was  made  by  Grotius.1  Grotius  was  a  writer  on  in- 
ternational law,  and  he  approached  the  question  from  the  point 
of  view  of  a  student  of  law.  He  urged  that  the  very  term  "sat- 
isfaction" in  itself  destroyed  the  force  of  the  Socinian  criticism. 
For  "satisfaction"  is  that  which  is  accepted  in  the  place  of  that 
which  is  required.  In  accepting  something  as  satisfaction  you 
do  not  consider  that  you  have  received  again  precisely  what  you 
have  lost.  Christ  by  his  suffering  had  not  made  absolute  pay- 
ment, but  had  done  that  which  God  was  willing  to  accept  as 
satisfaction  in  the  place  of  that  which  was  required.  It  is  as 
though  some  one  had  paid  a  part  of  our  debt,  saying  to  our  credi- 
tor, "I  will  pay  you  this  if  you  will  call  the  account  square."  In 
such  a  case  the  creditor  would  still  have  the  right  to  make  con- 
ditions. 

Let  us  look  again  at  the  arguments  of  the  Socinians.  The  first 
was  that  Christ  could  not  have  offered  an  infinite  sacrifice.  Gro- 
tius admits  this.  In  the  second  place  the  Socinians  argued  that 
no  room  remained  for  forgiveness  or  for  gratitude.  Grotius  re- 
plies that  there  has  been  forgiveness  and  there  is  a  place  for  grati- 
tude, because  a  part  of  the  debt  has  been  remitted.     In  answer 

i  Bibliotheca  Sacra,  1879,  CXLI-CXLIV,  trans,  with  notes  by  F.  H.  Foster. 


312  GROTIUS 

to  the  remaining  arguments,  that  the  law  is  no  longer  binding 
and  that  universalism  must  result,  Grotius  argues  that  only  those 
who  conform  to  the  conditions  which  God  still  has  the  right  to 
impose  are  to  receive  the  benefit  of  the  transaction.  Thus  on 
the  one  hand  the  peril  of  universalism  is  avoided,  and  on  the  other 
hand  the  conditions  may  be  such  that  those  who  share  the  fruit 
of  the  transaction  may  be  either  those  upon  whom  the  law  is 
binding,  or  those  whose  spirits  shall  have  become  so  transformed 
that  they  have  no  need  of  the  law. 

If  it  is  asked  why  there  should  be  any  penalty,  why  forgiveness 
should  not  be  absolute,  the  reply  is  that  this  would  dishonor  the 
law.  Enough  must  be  demanded  to  make  the  law  respected  by 
men  and  angels.  If  this  has  been  done,  no  more  need  be  required. 
We  often  find  in  history  instances  where  great  numbers  of  people 
have  joined  in  some  rebellion  or  riot,  and  have  rendered  them- 
selves liable  to  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law.  In  such  cases, 
if  all  were  punished,  a  whole  community  might  be  depopulated, 
and  yet  if  all  were  forgiven  men  might  assume  that  mobs  could 
gather  and  do  violence  with  impunity.  Consequently  two  or 
three  of  the  ring-leaders  are  shot  or  hung  or  otherwise  made  an 
example.  In  this  way  enough  is  done  to  show  that  the  law  is 
not  a  dead  letter.  It  may  be  said  that  this  is  illogical,  and  so  it 
is.  But  the  practice  of  the  world  often  is  illogical.  It  is  illogi- 
cal, if  ten  men  or  a  hundred  are  guilty,  to  select  two  or  three  who 
alone  are  to  be  punished.  Yet  although  in  such  cases  the  satis- 
faction has  not  been  complete,  the  dignity  of  the  law  has  been 
sustained.  This  theory  of  Grotius,  known  as  the  "governmen- 
tal theory,"  is  the  more  interesting  because  later  we  find  it  enter- 
ing so  largely  into  New  England  theology.  Thus  Edwards  ar- 
gues that  God  could  not  be  just  to  himself  unless  there  be  an 
atonement  which  would  lead  to  a  repentance  and  humiliation  and 
sorrow  proportionate  to  the  majesty  insulted.  The  atonement 
could  be  dispensed  with  if  this  repentance  could  come  from  the 
heart  of  man,  but  that  is  impossible.1     And  Park  says,  that  with- 

1  Miscellaneous  Observations  on  Important  Doctrines,  "  Of  Satisfaction  for 
Sin,"  §§  1-3. 


GROTIUS  313 

out  the  atonement  God  would  be  unjust  to  himself  and  to  his 
law.1 

The  change  to  this  position  of  Grotius  from  that  of  Anselm  is 
great.  With  Anselm  God  and  his  honor  are  all  in  all,  and  satis- 
faction is  to  be  rendered  in  order  that  honor  may  not  be  withheld 
from  God.  With  Grotius  the  transaction  has  taken  place  for  the 
sake  of  the  universe,  that  government  and  the  respect  for  gov- 
ernment may  be  maintained.  Baur,  whose  history  of  the  doc- 
trine of  the  atonement 2  seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  fascinating 
works  on  the  history  of  theology  ever  written,  argues  that  in  tak- 
ing this  position  Grotius  has  yielded  the  whole  field  to  the  Socin- 
ians.  For  they  held  that  the  effect  of  the  death  of  Christ  upon 
the  believer  was  subjective  and  moral,  and  this  is  practically 
the  ground  taken  by  Grotius  when  he  admits  that  the  demand 
of  the  law  is  not  fully  met,  and  that  the  object  of  the  atonement 
is  to  make  men  reverence  the  law.  Foster,  the  translator  of 
Grotius,  replies  to  this  criticism  that  it  does  not  meet  the  case, 
because,  he  says,  if  there  were  but  one  sinner  in  the  world,  it  would 
still  be  as  important  that  something  should  be  done  to  satisfy  the 
law  as  though  there  were  an  infinite  number  of  individuals.3  But 
to  narrow  the  field  in  this  way  does  not  seem  to  me  to  affect  the 
argument,  or  to  remove  Baur's  objection.  At  the  same  time  it 
must  be  granted  that  Baur  does  not  do  Grotius  full  justice.  The 
atonement  is  required,  not  that  God  may  seem  just,  but  that  he 
may  be  seen  to  be  just.  If  it  were  only  that  he  might  seem  just, 
the  effect  would  be  subjective,  and  Baur's  criticism  would  be 
justified.  But  in  so  far  as  the  transaction  takes  place  in  order 
that  God  may  be  seen  to  be  just,  the  actual  presence  of  a  certain 
amount  of  objective  justice  is  implied,  and  therefore  in  this  aspect 
the  atonement  looks  law- ward  if  not  God-ward.  Of  the  two 
elements  in  the  manifestation  of  the  divine  justice,  Baur  recog- 

1  Introductory  essay  to  Discourses  and   Treatises  by  Edwards,  etc.,  pp.  444, 
521,  156. 

2  F.  C.  Baur,  Die  Christliche  Lehre  von  der  Vcrsohnung. 

3  Bibliotheca  Sacra,  1879.     Also  A  Defence  of  the  Catholic  Faith  concerning 
the  Satisfaction  of  Christ,  Andover,  1889,  Translator's  notes,  pp.  300-301. 


314  VICARIOUS    SUFFERING 

nizes  the  element  of  manifestation,  but  he  fails  to  see  that  the 
very  term  "  manifestation "  implies  that  there  is  something  to  be 
manifested.  Take  the  case  of  the  rioters  to  which  I  have  referred. 
When  two  or  three  out  of  all  the  number  are  selected  for  punish- 
ment, we  do  not  say  that  this  is  done  in  order  that  the  law  may 
seem  to  be  executed,  but  that  it  may  be  seen  to  be  executed.  Thus 
he  law  is  really  honored.  If  the  men,  instead  of  being  put  to 
death,  were  smuggled  off  into  another  country  and  then  the  an- 
nouncement was  made  that  all  had  been  put  to  death,  the  law 
would  seem  to  have  been  honored.  But  when  the  chosen  men 
are  put  to  death,  then  the  law  is  seen  to  be  honored,  because  up 
to  a  certain  point  real  satisfaction  has  been  rendered. 

In  order  to  criticise  understandingly  the  various  forms  in  which 
the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement  is  presented,  one  has  to  go  behind 
them  and  consider  a  principle  which  all  involve,  the  principle  of 
vicarious  suffering.  I  have  already  had  occasion  to  refer  to  the 
distinction  between  real  and  formal  vicarious  suffering.1  A  fur- 
ther distinction  must  be  made  between  the  two  kinds  or  degrees 
of  formal  vicarious  suffering,  the  first  where  the  guilty  suffer  for 
the  guilty,  as  in  the  case  of  the  rioters,  and  the  second  where  the 
innocent  are  made  to  suffer  for  the  guilty.  A  number  of  exam- 
ples are  given  to  illustrate  this  second  kind  of  formal  vicarious 
suffering,  and  to  advocate  its  reasonableness.  Not  all  of  them 
apply  accurately,  but  perhaps  accuracy  is  not  required  in  such  a 
case.  Thus  there  is  the  story  of  the  king  whose  son  had  been 
sentenced  to  the  loss  of  both  his  eyes.  The  king  has  one  of  his 
own  eyes  put  out  and  one  of  his  son's.  Here  the  intent  of  the 
law  was  blindness,  but  no  one  was  made  blind.  The  best  of 
these  examples  is  a  recent  one, — the  story  of  the  way  in  which 
Mr.  Alcott 2  undertook  to  punish  the  boys  in  his  school  at  Con- 
cord. Mr.  Alcott  made  the  rule  that  if  any  boy  did  wrong,  the 
boy  should  whip  him.  Here  the  law  was  justified,  for  there  was 
no  violation  of  it  without  a  penalty.  Obviously  the  experiment 
was  not  a  safe  one.  Yet  we  must  recognize  the  fact  that  under 
the  circumstances  there  was  a  real  power  in  this  method  of  car- 

i  Pages  289-292.  2  A.  Bronson  Alcott. 


VICARIOUS    SUFFERING  315 

rying  out  the  law  by  such  a  transfer  of  the  punishment,  and  it 
is  not  an  objection  to  it  that  the  boy  did  suffer  after  all  in  seeing 
the  master  bear  the  punishment  which  he  himself  had  deserved. 
It  is  sometimes  said  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement  that  in  al- 
lowing the  suffering  of  the  innocent  for  the  guilty  it  tends  to  make 
men  selfish  and  at  ease  in  their  sin.  This  may  be  true  in  the  case 
of  mean  natures,  but  in  proportion  as  the  heart  is  generous  and 
gentle  it  would  more  naturally  be  conquered  by  the  love  which 
is  thus  manifested. 

When  we  read  the  stories  of  the  transference  of  suffering  from 
the  guilty  to  the  innocent  in  the  past,  we  can  enter  to  a  certain 
extent  into  the  spirit  of  them,  and  we  can  admire  the  unselfishness 
that  led  to  the  sacrifice.  But  we  should  feel  quite  differently 
if  such  transference  were  to  be  attempted  at  the  present  day. 
If  nowadays  a  criminal  were  to  be  condemned  to  death,  and  it 
should  be  proposed  that  his  wife  be  allowed  to  suffer  in  his  place, 
or  if  Lincoln,  instead  of  being  killed  incidentally,  had  offered  to 
die  on  condition  that  full  amnesty  should  be  given  to  the  South, 
we  should  protest.  We  should  say  that  the  crime  would  not 
be  atoned  for  but  only  increased  by  this  sort  of  transference. 
The  law  of  righteousness  would  not  be  vindicated  but  only  more 
deeply   violated.     How   do   we   explain   this   change   of   feeling  ? 

We  may  be  helped  to  understand  it  by  Comte's  theory  of  the 
human  understanding.1  According  to  this  theory  there  are  three 
stages  in  human  history,  the  theological,  the  metaphysical  and 
the  positive.  In  the  theological  stage  all  that  takes  place  is 
explained  as  resulting  from  the  activity  of  supernatural  spirit. 
The  metaphysical  stage  is  not  so  clearly  defined,  but  in  general 
it  may  be  said  that  it  is  the  stage  in  which  there  is  the  recognition 
of  something  behind  and  beyond  the  physical  form,  an  entity 
distinct  from  the  thing  itself.  It  is  the  stage  of  a  scholastic  real- 
ism. Such  terms  as  "attraction"  and  "gravitation"  are  used 
as  expressing  some  generalization,  and  not  as  suggesting  the 
cause  of  the  phenomena.  In  the  third  or  positive  stage  the 
metaphysical  entity  is  dropped;    we  have  to  do  only  with  phe- 

1  Positive  Philosophy,  Book  VI,  Chap.  VI. 


316  VICARIOUS    SUFFERING 

nomena  and  do  not  go  behind  our  experience.  Now  in  the 
metaphysical  stage  sin  and  penalty  are  regarded  as  entities  which 
may  be  separated  from  personality,  and  therefore  it  makes  little 
difference  in  this  stage  of  thought,  so  long  as  penalty  is  inflicted, 
whether  or  no  the  same  person  who  has  committed  the  sin  also 
bears  the  penalty.  But  at  the  present  time  sin  and  penalty  are 
regarded  as  personal,  and  the  penalty  must  be  inflicted  not  on  a 
person  but  on  the  person  who  has  deserved  it.  There  is,  how- 
ever, one  survival  of  the  theory  of  sin  as  an  entity.  A  fine  may 
still  be  paid  by  an  innocent  man  on  behalf  of  a  guilty  man,  and 
whenever  this  is  done  we  have  still  the  satisfaction  of  the  law 
through  a  punishment  for  sin  which  is  borne  by  some  one  other 
than  the  person  who  has  been  guilty  of  the  sin;  the  sin  and  the 
penalty  are  separated  from  personality. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

MODERN  THEORIES  OF  THE  ATONEMENT:  MCLEOD  CAMPBELL 
AND  DORNER;  BUSHNELL  AND  NEWMAN  SMYTH. — THE 
PAULINE  VIEW. — THE  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  TRINITY:  DORNER 
AND  SHEDD;  THE  ARGUMENT  FROM  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT. 
— THE  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  INCARNATION:  DORNER  AND 
RITSCHL. — THE  NATURE  OF  JESUS  AND  OF  THE  HOLY  SPIRIT 
CONSIDERED  AS  THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  PRINCIPLE 
IN  THE  WORLD  AT  COMPLETE   SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 

When  we  turn  to  modern  theories  of  the  Atonement  we  find 
that  the  subject  is  approached  from  one  or  the  other  of  two  oppo- 
site points  of  view.  According  to  the  first  view  the  work  of 
Christ  is  accomplished  through  his  identification  with  man; 
the  second  view  emphasizes  his  identification  with  God.  Of 
those  who  represent  the  first  view,  McLeod  Campbell *  takes 
as  the  basis  of  his  theory  that  idea  of  freedom  of  the  will  as 
demanding  a  pre-existing  state  which  to  Edwards  appeared  to 
be  a  redudio  ad  absurdum?  According  to  Campbell  there  must 
be  an  amen  from  the  heart  of  man  to  the  condemnation  of  sin 
by  God.  No  man  could  have  this  profound  sense  of  the  evil 
of  sin.  But  Christ,  identifying  himself  with  man,  can  recog- 
nize fully  the  true  nature  of  sin  and  utter  the  amen  to  God's 
condemnation,  and  thus  he  accomplishes  for  man  the  response 
that  is  required  of  him.  A  similar  view  is  taken  by  Dorner.3 
Christ  so  identifies  himself  with  men  through  sympathy  that  he 
takes  upon  himself  the  sense  of  sin  which  should  be  theirs,  and 

i  J.  McLeod  Campbell,  The  Nature  of  the  Atonement. 

2  Page  215.     Also  C.  C.  Everett,  The  Gospel  of  Paul,  pp.  90-91. 

3  System  der  Christlichen  Glaubenslehre,  Vol.  II,  pp.  650-652. 


318      MODERN  THEORIES  OF  THE  ATONEMENT 

by  his  love  includes  all  others  in  his  act.  As  he  cannot  be  thought 
of  without  man,  so  man  cannot  be  thought  of  without  him.  Thus 
the  penitence,  if  we  may  so  speak,  of  Christ  covers  the  sin  of 
man. 

According  to  both  these  writers  Christ  accomplishes  his  work 
through  his  humanity;  identifying  himself  with  man,  he  approaches 
God  from  the  man-ward  side.  Of  those  who  take  the  other  view 
by  which  the  identification  of  Christ  with  God  is  emphasized, 
Bushnell,  in  his  Vicarious  Atonement,  advances  a  purely  subjec- 
tive theory  which  is  akin  to  the  Socinian  view.  Later,  however, 
he  felt  the  need  of  something  more  objective,  and  in  Forgiveness 
and  the  Law  he  argues  that  the  greatest  love  is  called  forth  by 
suffering  for  the  one  loved,  and  that  God  so  suffered  in  Christ 
that  his  love  for  man  became  such  that  he  could  forgive  his  sin. 
As  I  have  said  before,  Bushnell  is  a  great  preacher,  but  as  a 
theologian  his  method  is  uncertain.  In  this  case,  we  feel  that  it 
must  have  been  an  absolutely  profound  love  from  the  first  that 
called  forth  the  suffering,  and  therefore  the  love  was  the  cause 
rather  than  the  effect  of  the  suffering.  Newman  Smyth,  in 
The  Orthodoxy  of  Today  takes  a  view  which  is  similar  to  that 
of  Bushnell,  so  far  as  concerns  the  emphasis  upon  the  ap- 
proach from  the  God-ward  side.  But  Smyth  is  more  profound 
than  Bushnell,  and  more  in  accord  with  the  early  view  of  the 
Atonement.  God  cannot  forgive  sin  without  suffering  for  it.  Yet 
God  cannot  suffer  in  himself,  but  only  in  some  outgoing  of  him- 
self. The  suffering  is  thus  not  something  designed  primarily 
for  its  effect  upon  the  sinner,  but  necessary  to  God  in  order  that 
he  may  forgive. 

The  two  views  as  exemplified  in  Campbell  and  Dorner  on  the 
one  hand,  and  on  the  other  hand  in  Bushnell  and  Smyth,  have 
nothing  in  common  except  that  they  complement  each  other. 
Both  views  suggest  certain  questions.  Thus  one  may  ask  of 
Campbell  and  Dorner  why  it  was  necessary  that  a  divine  being 
should  identify  himself  with  man  in  order  to  respond  to  God's 
condemnation  of  sin.  Why  would  not  a  sinless  man  be  sufficient  ? 
If  the  reply  is  that  only  an  infinite  nature  could  thoroughly  un- 


MODERN    THEORIES    OF    THE   ATONEMENT  319 

derstand  the  infinitude  of  sin,  the  further  difficulty  arises  that 
there  are  two  standards  for  the  measurement  of  sin.  Which 
of  these  is  to  be  used  ? — the  infiniteness  of  God,  against  whom 
sin  is  committed,  or  the  finiteness  of  man  who  commits  the  sin  ? 
On  the  other  hand,  if  we  turn  to  Bushnell  and  Smyth,  we  may 
question  why  there  should  have  been  any  identification  with  man 
if  all  that  was  needed  was  that  God  should  suffer,  whether  in 
himself  or  through  some  outgoing  of  himself. 

In  The  Pauline  Theology  of  Stevens  an  attempt  is  made  to 
reconcile  the  two  views,  and  to  show  the  necessity  of  both  the 
divine  and  the  human  elements.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  it,  nor  is 
it  necessary  to  mention  here  other  recent  books  in  which  the 
theory  of  the  Atonement  is  discussed.  They  illustrate  still 
further  the  fact  that  no  one  theory  can  claim  the  authority  of  the 
general  consent  of  the  Church.  In  all  branches  of  the  Church 
at  present  the  feeling  is  common  that  there  is  no  need  of  any 
precise  theory, — that  it  is  enough  that  the  individual  should  feel 
that  in  some  way  Christ  has  done  something  which  makes  salvation 
possible.  This  position  is  not  illogical.  It  puts  faith  in  the 
person  of  Christ  in  place  of  faith  in  any  special  act,  and  this  is  a 
natural  outgrowth  from  the  theology  of  the  school  of  Schleier- 
macher,  in  which  the  person  of  Jesus  is  the  only  distinct  reality. 

Of  all  the  different  writers  no  one  makes  any  claim  that  his 
special  views  represent  the  teachings  of  the  New  Testament. 
In  most  cases  little  attention  is  paid  to  them.1  Where  there  is 
any  direct  reference  to  them,  the  attempt  is  too  often  made  to 
read  into  the  words  a  meaning  that  shall  support  the  theory  which 
has  been  assumed.  But  as  a  rule  each  writer  begins  with  the 
fact  of  the  Atonement,  and  asks  in  what  way  the  death  of  Christ 
could  have  made  forgiveness  easier.  Then  he  seeks  to  devise  a 
scheme  which  shall  answer  this  question  satisfactorily.     If,  how- 

i  An  interesting  example  of  this  inattention  occurs  in  the  conflict  between 
Bushnell's  theory  that  the  suffering  of  God  called  forth  the  love  which  made  for- 
giveness possible,  and  the  passage  in  the  Gospel  according  to  John  {John,  iii,  16) 
in  which  it  is  said  that  "God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only  begotten 
Son." 


320  THE   NEW   TESTAMENT   TEACHING 

ever,  we  turn  to  the  New  Testament,  and  especially  to  Paul's  writ- 
ings, we  find  that  they  present  two  aspects  of  the  Atonement.  The 
first  is  merely  formal.  It  appears  in  passages  like  that  in  Ro- 
mans, iii,  where  faith  in  Christ  is  declared  to  be  sufficient  for  salva- 
tion. Under  the  second  aspect  we  have  to  notice  first  the  legal 
effect  of  Christ's  work  in  the  abrogation  of  the  Hebrew  law. 
The  vastness  of  this  change  is  difficult  for  us  to  conceive,  but  we 
have  an  illustration  of  the  hold  of  the  law  upon  the  life  of  the 
people  in  the  manner  in  which  many  at  the  present  day  still 
regard  the  Sabbath.  Paul  himself  looked  upon  the  Hebrew  law 
as  divinely  given,  and  not  to  be  broken  through  by  any  human 
will;  if  it  was  to  be  abrogated  it  must  abrogate  itself.  Now 
Christ  in  the  crucifixion  suffered  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law. 
He  became  accursed,  and  all  who  followed  him  shared  his  pollu- 
tion. But  this  involved  another  step.  Those  who  were  thus 
accursed  were  freed  from  obedience  to  the  law,  as  any  exile  is 
freed  from  obedience  to  the  law  of  the  nation  that  has  driven  him 
into  exile.  But  in  exile  was  found  that  which  never  had  been 
found  before, — freedom  and  satisfaction  in  Christ. 

All  this  is  developed  very  clearly  in  the  letter  to  the  Galatians. 
Here  the  statements  in  the  third  chapter  should  not  be  slurred 
over.  Paul  was  an  extremely  logical  writer,  and  to  get  at  his 
thought  one  should  take  every  statement  as  literally  as  possible. 
It  is  often  said  that  Christ  was  crucified  because  he  was  accursed 
of  God.  But  this  is  not  Paul's  position.  According  to  Paul, 
Christ  was  accursed  because  he  was  crucified.  The  curse  was 
not  a  curse  against  sin,  but  a  legal,  ceremonial  curse,  and  its  in- 
fluence was  ceremonial.1     Why  had  Paul  persecuted  the  Chris- 

1  Another  illustration  of  the  ceremonial  aspect  of  the  law  and  of  the  crucifixion 
in  relation  to  it,  is  seen  in  the  extension  to  the  Gentiles  through  Christ's  death  of 
a  common  privilege  with  the  Jews.  In  the  letter  to  the  Ephesians  (Eph.,  ii,  11-22  ) 
we  are  told  that  the  "wall  of  partition,"  the  "enmity,"  between  Jew  and  Gentile 
had  been  the  law.  But  Christ  by  his  death  had  abolished  this  enmity,  "that  he 
might  create  in  himself  of  the  twain  one  new  man,  so  making  peace."  It  may  be 
asked  in  this  connection  whether  the  withdrawal  of  the  law  does  not  imply  change- 
ableness  in  God.  The  reply  would  be  that  the  law  is  honored  in  that  it  speaks 
the  final  word  by  which  the  separation  between  Jew  and  Gentile  is  ended,  even 
though  in  this  final  word  it  puts  an  end  to  itself. 


THE    NEW   TESTAMENT   TEACHING  321 

tians?  He  himself  gives  the  reason.  "Christ  crucified,  unto 
Jews  a  stumbling-block, "  * —  a  stumbling-block  because  "  it  is 
written,  Cursed  is  every  one  that  hangeth  on  a  tree."  2  To  the 
Jew  those  who  followed  Christ  were  polluted  equally  with  him 
by  his  crucifixion,  and  as  a  zealous  Jew  Paul  did  his  utmost  to 
drive  them  out  of  the  Jewish  church.  Then  when  his  conversion 
took  place,  when  he  believed  that  he  had  seen  the  glorified  Christ, 
instead  of  simply  admitting  as  some  would  have  done  that  he  had 
been  mistaken,  he  followed  the  logic  of  his  conviction;  he  saw 
that  he  had  no  place  any  longer  with  the  Jews  and  followed  Christ 
without  the  church;  and  then  in  the  consciousness  of  his  own 
freedom  he  used  all  his  rabbinical  skill  to  bring  about  the  eman- 
cipation of  others  from  the  law,  and  to  encourage  them  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  Christian  life.  Not  only  does  the  law  have  no 
further  claim  upon  the  follower  of  Christ,  but  all  former  pains 
and  penalties  are  wiped  out.3  Thus  remission  of  sins  follows  also 
upon  the  abrogation  of  the  law;  the  banished  citizen  can  suffer  no 
further  penalty  for  any  offence,  either  past  or  future,  under  the 
law  of  the  country  that  has  exiled  him.  Furthermore,  not  merely 
the  ceremonial  law  but  all  law  as  such  is  abrogated.4  This  is 
only  to  be  expected  as  a  result  of  the  mingling  of  ceremonial  and 
moral  transgression  in  the  old  legislation.  But  only  the  man 
who  is  in  real  relation  with  Christ,  who  really  shares  in  his  excom- 
munication, is  thus  free;  the  man  who  is  without  the  spirit  of 
Christ  is  still  under  the  law;  only  those  are  free  who  are  fit  for 
freedom.  In  other  words,  all  real  relations  remain;  it  is  the 
externals  that  are  done  away  with.  It  has  taken  the  world  a 
great  while  to  reach  Paul's  position  of  freedom. 

All  this  legal  effect  of  the  Atonement,  however,  is  only  negative 
as  compared  with  its  spiritual  effect.  Although  Paul  lays  so 
much  stress  upon  the  abrogation  of  the  law,  it  is  after  all  the  new 
life  that  is  of  most  importance  to  him.  The  legal  aspect  of  Christ's 
work  was  temporary  and  special,  the  means  by  which  the  Jewish 
Christian  was  to  be  freed  from  the  yoke  of  the  law,  and  salvation 

i  J  Corinthians,  i,  23.  2  Galatians,  iii,  13. 

sColossians,  ii,  14.  *  Romans,  vi,  1.     Galatians,  ii,  17. 


322  THE   NEW   TESTAMENT   TEACHING 

made  possible  for  the  Gentile.  But  the  power  of  the  Christian 
life  was  permanent.  In  the  statement  of  this  positive  faith  it  is 
only  natural  that  the  language  of  sacrifice  should  be  employed 
freely.  The  stamp  upon  his  life  of  the  Hebrew  ritual,  and  the 
impression  made  by  the  crucifixion  of  one  whom  he  regarded  as 
the  Messiah,  were  blended  in  the  thought  of  Paul,  and  it  is  not 
strange  that  this  thought  clothed  itself  so  continually  in  sacrificial 
imagery.  Furthermore,  there  is  an  identification  of  the  believer 
with  Christ  which  may  be  regarded  either  as  mystical  or  only  as 
the  symbolical  expression  of  strong  emotion,  but  which  in  either 
case  testifies  to  the  reality  and  positiveness  of  the  faith  which 
thus  found  utterance.  Thus  we  find  Paul  saying  to  the  Romans, 
"  if  we  died  with  Christ  we  believe  that  we  shall  also  live  with 
him,"  *  and  "  if  Christ  is  in  you,  the  body  is  dead  because  of  sin, 
but  the  spirit  is  life  because  of  righteousness."  2  Again,  in  the 
letter  to  the  Galatians,  he  writes,  "I  have  been  crucified  with 
Christ;  yet  I  live;  and  yet  no  longer  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me."  3 
"  For  ye  died,"  he  says  to  the  Colossians,  "  and  your  life  is  hid 
with  Christ  in  God,"  i  while  earlier  in  the  same  letter  occurs  that 
striking  passage  in  which  he  speaks  of  filling  up  "that  which  is 
lacking  of  the  afflictions  of  Christ."  5 

In  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews  the  reference  to  Melchizedek,  if 
taken  literally,  is  peculiarly  beautiful  and  instructive.  Melchi- 
zedek is  described  simply  as  a  novus  homo,  a  priest  "without 
genealogy."6  The  fact  that  this  priest  of  nature  blesses  Abraham 
"that  hath  the  promises,"  symbolizes  the  greatness  of  the  spir- 
itual relation  of  man  to  God  as  compared  with  the  narrowness 
of  the  law.  And  this,  the  writer  continues,  "  is  yet  more  abun- 
dantly evident,  if  after  the  likeness  of  Melchizedek  there  ariseth 
another  priest,  who  hath  been  made,  not  after  the  law  of  a  carnal 
commandment,  but  after  the  power  of  an  endless  life."  7 

Of  the  references  to  the  Atonement  in  the  Gospels,  the  larger 
part  are  only  formal.     Thus  when  Jesus  says  that  "  all  things  are 

1  Romans,  vi,  8.  2  Romans,  viii,  10.  3  Galatians,  ii,  20. 

4  Colossians,  iii,  3.  5  Colossians,  i,  24.  6  Hebrews,  vii,  3. 

?  Hebrews,  vii,  15,  16. 


THE    DOCTRINE    OF   THE   TRINITY  323 

possible  to  him  that  believeth,"  *  he  does  not  tell  what  is  to  be 
believed.  The  sick  man  must  believe  in  his  physician,  but  he 
must  also  have  the  physician's  prescription.  Now  the  prescrip- 
tion of  Jesus,  if  I  may  use  the  figure,  is  found  in  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  and  in  the  teaching  of  the  fatherhood  of  God.  The 
most  striking  passage  in  the  Gospels  is  that  in  which  Jesus  is 
represented  as  speaking  of  the  cup  as  "  my  blood  of  the  covenant 
which  is  shed  for  many  unto  remission  of  sins."  2  It  is  possible 
that  we  have  here  a  reference  to  the  use  of  blood  in  covenants, 
common  in  ancient  religions,  as  a  guarantee  of  the  seriousness  and 
good  faith  with  which  the  compact  is  made,3  and  that  the  sugges- 
tion is  that  in  the  death  of  Christ  a  guarantee  is  offered  of  God's 
faithfulness.  But  the  introduction  of  the  second  figure  of  the 
payment  of  a  debt,  in  the  words,  "unto  remission  of  sins,"  con- 
fuses this  interpretation,  while  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  blood  is 
shed  in  payment  of  debt,  the  whole  reference  to  the  Atonement 
becomes  only  formal.  In  view  of  the  similarity  to  some  of  Paul's 
expressions,  it  may  be  that  the  passage  is  simply  a  reflection  of 
Pauline  thought. 

One  important  element  in  the  New  Testament  view  of  the 
Atonement  should  not  be  overlooked, — its  intercessory  character. 
Intercession  belonged  to  the  priestly  office,  and  intercessory 
prayer  is  common  with  the  apostles  and  the  disciples.  It  is  not 
strange,  therefore,  that  it  should  be  assumed  that  prayer  on  the 
part  of  Jesus  would  be  especially  efficacious. 

As  I  have  already  said,  no  one  theory  of  the  Atonement  can, 
strictly  speaking,  be  considered  orthodox.  The  theory  of  the 
Atonement  depends  largely  upon  the  view  that  is  taken  of  the 
Incarnation,  and  this  in  turn  is  bound  up  with  the  theory  in 
regard  to  the  Trinity.  In  the  attempts  to  define  or  illustrate 
the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  the  difficulty  lies  in  the  reconciliation 
of  the  one  and  the  many.  The  doctrine  has  swung  between 
what  may  be  called  a  functional  or  psychological  trinity  on  the 

i  Mark,  ix,  23.  2  Matthew,  xxvi,  28. 

3  Genesis,  xv,  9.    Exodus,  xxiv.     W.  Robertson  Smith,  Lectures  on  the  Religion 
of  the  Seftiitcs,  IX. 


324  THE    DOCTRINE    OF   THE   TRINITY 

one  side  and  an  apparent  tritheism  on  the  other.  Sometimes  the 
unity  of  the  divine  nature  has  absorbed  its  trinity,  and  again  the 
unity  has  been  lost  in  the  trinity.  Augustine  discovered  a  mani- 
festation of  the  Trinity  wherever  three  elements  are  united  in  one 
essence.  Thus  in  the  outer  life  an  illustration  offered  in  body, 
sight  and  intention,  and  in  the  inner  life  in  memory,  self-knowl- 
edge or  consciousness,  and  will  or  love.  It  should  be  noticed 
that  these  elements  are  suggested  by  Augustine  only  as  an  illus- 
tration of  the  Trinity.  The  Father  is  not  merely  as  memory,  or 
the  Son  merely  self-recognition.  Each  element  involves  all 
three.  But  in  the  case  of  the  Father  the  emphasis  is  on  the  first, 
and  so  on  with  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost.  This  is  necessary 
in  order  that  the  separate  personalities  may  not  be  lost  in  the 
unity  of  the  divine  nature.  The  distinction  is  important  and 
should  be  borne  in  mind  in  comparing  the  view  of  Dorner  with 
that  of  Augustine. 

What  Augustine  used  as  an  illustration  Dorner  uses  as  an  ex- 
planation. The  philosophical  sense  with  Dorner  is  stronger  than 
the  historical,  and  his  attempt  to  construct  the  Trinity  is  simply 
the  attempt  to  construct  personality.1  God  is  absolute  life, 
knowledge  and  goodness.  Now  wherever  we  find  life,  we  find 
first  the  element  of  unity,  then  the  element  of  differentiation,  and 
then  the  element  of  integration.  This  appears  even  in  the  physical 
aspect  of  life,  as  when  the  tree  differentiates  itself  into  the  various 
processes  which  in  turn  constitute  the  tree.  In  knowledge  there 
are  the  subject  and  the  object,  and  the  recognition  that  these  are 
one;  there  are  the  "I"  and  the  "me"  and  the  recognition  of 
identity.  In  goodness  there  are  necessity  and  freedom,  and 
love  uniting  freedom  and  necessity.  Under  these  different  as- 
pects we  have  the  content  of  the  triune  personality  of  God,  the 
Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Spirit.  Perhaps  if  Dorner  had  not 
been  under  the  necessity  of  conforming  to  the  order  of  the  three 
persons  of  the  Trinity,  his  statement  of  the  ethical  aspect  might 
have  been,  freedom,  necessity,  and  love  rendering  the  necessity 
freedom.     He  seems  to  have  given  freedom  the  second  place  partly 

1  System  der  Christlichen  Glaubenslehre,  Vol.  I,  p.  404. 


THE    DOCTRINE    OF   THE   TRINITY  325 

because  of  the  doctrine  which  he  had  in  mind,  and  partly  be- 
cause  freedom   implied   a   choice.     In   this   construction   of   the 
Trinity  there  is  the  construction  of  every  conscious  spirit,  the 
organization  necessary  to  every  complete  consciousness.     For  in 
all   conscious    life    there    must    be    these    three    elements, — the 
great  pulse  beat  of  the  world.     If   this    is    the   doctrine   of   the 
Trinity,  then  every  theist  is  a  Trinitarian.     But  Dorner's  state- 
ment  does    not   satisfy  the  historical  conception  of  the  Trinity. 
Shedd  has  tried  to  do  this  in  his  History  of  Christian  Doctrine} 
With  Shedd  as  with  Augustine  the  three  centres  of  consciousness 
in  the  Trinity  are  conceived  as  separate,  whereas  with  Dorner 
the   Son   has  no   separate  consciousness   apart  from   the  Father 
and    the    Spirit,    or   the   Father   or   the   Spirit,    similarly,    apart 
from   the   Son.     Either  theory  presents   difficulty.     On  the   one 
hand  it  is  hard  to  distinguish  these  three  separate  centres  of  con- 
sciousness and  still  maintain  the  conception  of  unity,  and  on  the 
other  hand  it  is  equally  difficult  to  accept   Dorner  as  orthodox. 
Historically  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  was  developed  from  a 
scriptural  basis.     Although  it  is  nowhere  taught  explicitly  in  the 
New  Testament  writings,  those  who  hold  it  believe  that  it  is  taught 
implicitly.     It  grows  out  of  a  theory  of  the  Incarnation  by  which 
the  pre-existent  Christ  is  exalted  to  an  equality  with  God.     Then 
since  we  have  God  the  Father  and  Jesus  Christ  as  God,  since  the 
Holy  Spirit  is  spoken  of  in  the  same  relation,  and  since  the  unity 
of  the  Godhead  must  still  be  recognized,  there  follows  the  doc- 
trine of  three  Persons  and  one  God.     The  course  of  reasoning, 
however,  by  which  the  Holy  Spirit  is  included,  would  appear  to 
cover  other  cases  where  some  personality  is  spoken  of  in  the  same 
relation  with  the  Son.     Thus  in  the  Gospel  according   to   John 
there  is  the  prayer  that  those  who  believe  on  Jesus  "may  be  in 
us,"  "even  as  thou,  Father,  art  in  me,  and  I  in  thee";2  and  in  the 
Revelation  of  John  the  saints  are  represented  as  singing  "the  song 
of  Moses  .  .  .  and  the  song  of  the  Lamb."3     I  do  not  myself  find  in 
the  New  Testament  writings  taken  as  a  whole  the  teaching  that 

i  Vol.  I,  pp.  251  and  404.  2  John,  xvii,  20-23. 

3  Revelation,  xv,  3. 


326  THE    INCARNATION 

Christ  is  equal  with  God.  He  is  exalted  above  humanity  and  his 
pre-existenee  is  recognized,  but  throughout  the  different  writings 
he  seems  to  be  spoken  of  as  subordinate  to  God.1  The  Gospel 
according  to  John  is  especially  interesting  because  it  brings  together 
the  two  extremes  of  New  Testament  teaching, — on  the  one  hand 
the  exaltation  and  mysticism  in  such  phrases  as  "He  that  hath 
seen  me  hath  seen  the  Father,"  2  and  on  the  other  hand  the  sub- 
ordination in  the  words,  " The  Father  is  greater  than  I,"3  and  again 
the  blending  of  the  two,  as  in  the  passage  from  the  prayer  of  Jesus 
to  which  I  have  just  referred.4  The  nearest  approach  to  the 
New  Testament  position,  considered  as  a  whole,  in  regard  to  the 
nature  of  Christ,  is  found  in  the  Arian  doctrine. 

In  its  historical  development  the  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation 
has  swung,  as  Baur  says,  between  Docetism  and  Ebionitism, 
covering  everything  from  the  theory  that  the  human  aspect  of 
Christ's  nature  was  only  apparent  to  the  view  that  his  humanity 
was  the  essential  thing.  The  difficulty  has  been  to  find  the  point 
of  union  between  the  divine  and  the  human.  In  Christ,  the  God- 
man,  the  two  are  brought  together;  but  they  are  still  foreign  to 
each  other,  the  problem  still  remains.  At  the  time  of  the  Refor- 
mation the  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation  in  common  with  all  other 
doctrines  may  be  said  to  have  reached  the  climax  of  its  develop- 
ment, and  we  have  the  "  communicatio  idiomatum,"  the  attempt 
to  weld  together  the  various  elements.  This  attempt  has  various 
forms.  In  the  first  the  attributes  of  both  the  divine  and  the  hu- 
man natures  are  all  applied  to  the  one  personality,  Christ  himself, 
in  its  entirety.  In  the  second  form  one  or  the  other  of  the  two 
natures  is  spoken  of  as  possessing  the  attributes  of  the  personality 
as  a  whole;  thus  Christ  died  for  us,  and  so  we  are  to  say  that  the 
Son  of  God  died  for  us.  In  a  third  form  we  have  the  human 
nature  with  divine  attributes, — that  is  to  say,  the  active  attri- 
butes, not  those  that  are  static,  such  as  omniscience.  Still  a  fourth 
form  is  possible,  by  which  the  divine  nature  might  be  spoken  of 

1  Mark,  xiii,  32.     I  Corinthians,  iii,  23;  viii,  6;  xi,  3.     Hebrews,  i,  2. 

2  John,  xiv,  9.  3  John,  xiv,  28.  *  John,  xvii,  20-23. 


THE    INCARNATION  327 

as  possessing  human  attributes ;  but  this  would  be  merely  formal. 
In  all  this  no  real  element  of  union  appears.  An  external  force 
is  applied,  through  which  the  elements  are,  so  to  speak,  clamped 
together.  But  there  is  no  organic  element  of  relation.  The  dif- 
ficulty remains,  that  the  divine  is  conceived  as  possessing  nothing 
of  the  human,  and  the  human  as  possessing  nothing  of  the  divine. 

Dorner  finds  in  the  Incarnation  the  very  crown  of  history.  He 
seeks  a  point  at  which  the  divine  and  the  human  may  unite,  and 
finds  it  in  the  polar  antitheses  of  the  two  natures,  fulness  and 
need,  love  and  receptivity.1  This  solution,  however,  is  largely 
formal.  For  in  order  to  be  assured  that  the  human  need  is  satis- 
fied by  the  divine  fulness,  we  demand  that  there  shall  be  behind 
the  antitheses  some  element  of  identity,  and  Dorner  takes  for 
granted  a  certain  community  which  is  not  fully  recognized.  There 
are  not  two  natures  in  Christ,  Dorner  says,  but  two  elements  in 
one  nature,  of  which  the  "  I,"  the  consciousness,  is  the  focus.  It 
is  like  conscience  in  the  individual  life.  Conscience,  "the  voice 
of  God,"  does  not  exist  as  an  element  foreign  to  human  nature, 
but  is  blended  with  other  elements  of  the  nature  and  focussed  in 
the  one  ego  of  the  consciousness.  In  using  this  illustration,  how- 
ever, Dorner  leads  one  to  question  whether  his  position  in  regard 
to  the  nature  of  Christ  might  not  be  assumed  as  also  true  of  every 
human  soul.  Dorner  would  admit  this  so  far  as  regards  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Holy  Spirit;  so  far  as  the  voice  of  conscience  is  made 
to  serve  as  an  illustration,  the  line  of  demarcation  between  the 
life  of  Christ  and  other  lives  is  somewhat  blurred.  But  Dor- 
ner insists  that  there  is  something  very  special  in  the  life  of  Christ. 

According  to  Ritschl  the  divinity  of  Christ  appears  in  the  fact 
that  he  overcame  the  world.3  Otherwise  Ritschl  advances  no 
theory  in  regard  to  Christ's  nature,  but  simply  recognizes  in  him 
the  revelation  or  manifestation  of  God,  and  this  is  all  that  many 
writers  of  the  present  time  insist  upon. 

In  attempting  now  some  more  positive  statement  in  regard  to 

1  System  der  Christlichen  Glaubenslehre,  Vol.  II,  pp.  406-411. 

2  Die  Christliche  Lehre  von  der  Rechtjertigung,  etc.,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  426  f. 


328  CONSCIOUS    LIFE    COMPLETE    IN   JESUS 

the  nature  of  Christ  and  the  doctrines  of  the  Trinity  and  the  Atone- 
ment, let  us  go  back  again  to  those  vorstellungen  to  which  we 
resorted  in  order  to  represent  to  ourselves  the  relation  between 
the  creation  and  the  Creator.1  According  to  two  of  these  vor- 
stellungen,— the  relation  of  a  child  to  its  parent,2  and  the  relation 
of  body  to  soul,3 — there  is  a  certain  supernatural  or  divine  ele- 
ment in  the  world.  We  have  recognized  this  in  that  principle  of 
teleology  which  has  prevailed  all  through  the  history  of  the  world.4 
Whatever  guidance  from  without  may  be  discovered  in  the  devel- 
opment of  this  history,  we  have  found  it  easier  to  regard  it  as 
essentially  the  result  of  the  working  of  an  inner  principle,  as  a 
growth  like  the  growth  of  a  plant  or  an  animal  or  a  human  life, 
so  that  the  world  may  be  considered  as  one  great  organism,  with 
its  various  stages  of  development.  In  this  development  there  is 
nothing  external,  in  the  sense  that  any  results  are  dependent  upon 
the  chance  relations  of  merely  superficial  elements.  It  is  a  devel- 
opment as  orderly,  and  as  truly  involved  in  its  beginning,  as  the 
development  of  the  plant,  but  with  this  great  difference,  that 
when  we  come  to  man  an  element  of  freedom  enters,  in  accordance 
with  which  it  depends  more  or  less  upon  man's  will  whether  the 
development  is  to  be  checked  or  is  still  to  advance,  and,  if  it  is 
to  advance,  whether  with  greater  or  with  less  rapidity. 

The  inner  principle  is  at  first  unconscious  of  itself.  At  the  very 
beginning  there  is  what  we  should  ordinarily  call  external  mate- 
rial. Then  comes  the  beginning  of  organic  life, — not  the  begin- 
ning of  life  itself,  for  that  first  stage  was  the  manifestation  of 
life;  from  the  first  there  was  the  "world-soul,"  or  whatever  we 
may  choose  to  call  the  inner,  supernatural,  divine  element.  Then 
with  the  organic  life  of  the  plant  comes  the  organic  life  of  the 
animal,  and  then  the  sensitive  life  of  the  animal,  and  then  the  con- 
scious life  of  the  animal  and  the  man.  Finally  that  conscious  life 
of  the  man  reaches  its  most  complete  self-consciousness  and  the 
most  complete  consciousness  of  its  environment  in  Jesus.  In 
Jesus  this  divine  life  that  has  been  in  the  world  comes  to  recog- 
nize itself  as  divine,  and  to  look  up  and  recognize  in  the  fullest 

i  Chapter  XIII.  2  Page  120.  3pagell9.  4  Pages  143-188. 


CONSCIOUS    LIFE    COMPLETE    IN   JESUS  329 

and  freest  sense  its  divine  source,  not  only  as  its  source,  but  as 
the  presence  which  from  the  beginning  has  been  the  helpful  com- 
panion and  guardian  of  its  own  divinity.  In  Jesus,  God  and  the 
world  become  one  as  they  had  never  been  before.  Furthermore 
Jesus  did  not  stand  wholly  alone  in  this  consciousness  of  self  and 
of  God.  He  is  "  the  first  of  many  brethren."  1  With  him  the 
whole  race  takes  an  upward  step,  so  that  we  have  the  beginning 
of  a  new  life  in  the  world,  a  life  animated  by  a  higher  conscious- 
ness and  by  a  deeper  impulse  toward  better  things. 

There  is,  then,  a  certain  sense  in  which  Jesus  may  be  spoken 
of  in  a  special  manner  as  the  Son  of  God.  If  the  world  may 
be  regarded  as  in  some  sense  the  son  of  the  Father,  born  of  the 
divine  life,  and  if  up  to  the  time  of  Jesus  the  world  had  not  been 
fully  conscious  of  this  divine  sonship,  but  first  came  to  its  full 
consciousness  in  him,  so  that  he  first  stood  in  this  absolute  rela- 
tion to  God,  then  we  may  say  of  him  in  a  special  sense  that  he 
was  the  Son  of  God.  In  a  similar  way,  using  the  term  in  the 
same  large  and  general  sense,  we  may  also  speak  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  According  to  Hegel,  it  is  a  mistake  to  place  the  reality 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  any  relation  of  priority  to  its  embodiment 
in  human  life  or  of  separation  from  it.  In  Hegel's  thought  the 
Holy  Spirit  comes  to  the  consciousness  of  itself  in  the  Church. 
By  the  Holy  Spirit  and  by  the  consciousness  of  it  he  would  mean 
that  which  is  in  part  expressed  by  the  phrase,  "Christian  con- 
sciousness," the  consciousness  in  the  Church  of  the  unity  of  its 
life.2  The  use  of  the  term  in  such  a  sense  is  not  wholly  foreign 
to  our  use  of  the  term  "spirit."  We  are  in  the  habit  of  using 
this  term  to  represent  life  at  a  certain  stage  of  consciousness. 
Thus  we  do  not  speak  of  the  lower  animals  as  possessing  spirit 
in  this  sense.  We  use  the  term  only  when  we  reach  human  life, 
the  special  distinction  of  which  is  the  consciousness  of  self.  A 
spirit  is  that  which  is  to  a  certain  extent  conscious  of  itself  as  an 
individual  being.  The  Holy  Spirit  thus  becomes  that  which  in 
its  perfect  self-consciousness  transcends  itself,  and  finds  that  it  is 
not  merely  an  individual  life,  but  a  part  in  a  larger,  more  com- 

i  Romans,  viii,  29.  2  Werke,  Berlin,  1832,  Vol.  XII,  pp.  257-288. 


330  CONSCIOUS   LIFE    COMPLETE    IN   JESUS 

plete  life,  of  which  it  is  a  manifestation.  To  use  a  very  imper- 
fect illustration,  the  difference  is  like  that  between  a  leaf  con- 
scious of  itself  only  as  a  leaf, — supposing  that  we  could  give  a 
leaf  consciousness, — and  that  same  leaf  as  it  becomes  conscious 
that  it  is  part  of  the  organism  of  the  tree  and  feels  within  itself 
the  common  life  of  the  whole  tree  even  more  than  its  own  indi- 
vidual life.  In  the  Holy  Spirit  we  have  the  divine  life  mani- 
festing itself  in  the  soul  not  as  over  against  the  individual  life, 
but  as  the  greater  fulness  of  that  life  itself.  The  individual  life 
passes  out  from  the  little  limits  of  its  individuality  and  enters 
into  the  common  life  of  the  spiritual  brotherhood  of  man  and 
the  sonship  to  God. 

In  the  Bible  there  are  three  uses  of  the  term  "  Spirit  of  God  " 
or  "Holy  Spirit."  The  first  of  these  is  very  general.  Accord- 
ing to  it  the  spirit  of  God  is  spoken  of  as  the  animating  source 
of  all  life;  it  is  by  God's  spirit  that  men  have  understanding. 
A  second  use,  peculiar  to  the  New  Testament,  relates  to  the  pos- 
session of  the  life  by  a  constraining  spiritual  presence  which 
manifests  itself  in  special  revelation  and  in  special  guidance. 
In  the  third  use  the  term  represents  something  that  is  less  formal 
and  more  in  accord  with  the  natural  life  of  the  soul.  Thus  it  is 
said  that  "the  fruit  of  the  spirit  is  love,  joy,  peace,"1  etc.,  quali- 
ties which  are  simply  the  more  perfect  fruits  of  the  tree  of  life, 
the  result  of  the  re-enforcement  of  the  ordinary  life  of  the  soul 
through  the  fuller  and  freer  development  of  the  life  of  God  within 
it.  It  is  to  this  last  use  that  the  view  of  Hegel  which  I  have  been 
illustrating  more  nearly  corresponds. 

I  have  no  disposition  to  insist  upon  scriptural  authority  for  the 
use  of  these  terms  in  the  sense  which  I  have  just  indicated,  nor 
have  I  any  special  partiality  for  the  use  of  the  terms  in  any  sense. 
Yet  it  is  interesting  and  suggestive  to  see  how  naturally  and 
easily  the  terminology  of  the  early  Church  may  be  made  to  cover 
views  not  originally  contemplated  by  it,  but  which  have  been 
reached  in  various  ways  through  the  natural  development  of 
thought.     Furthermore,  the  use  of  these  terms  in  such  a  sense 

i  Galatians,  v,  22-23. 


CONSCIOUS    LIFE    COMPLETE    IN   JESUS  331 

as  that  which  I  have  suggested  is  at  least  as  scriptural  as  the  use 
which  Dorner  makes  of  them.  For  example,  Dorner  argues 
that  the  Logos  had  no  consciousness  apart  from  the  Father  and 
the  Spirit  prior  to  the  moment  of  the  Incarnation.1  But  this 
is  not  in  accordance  with  the  New  Testament  view.  For  if  we 
hold  that  the  New  Testament  teaches  the  pre-existence  of  Jesus, 
as  it  appears  to  do, — and  as  in  my  judgment  it  cannot  be  under- 
stood as  not  doing, — we  must  also  hold  that  this  pre-existence 
was  conceived  as  a  personal  pre-existence  in  the  ordinary  sense 
of  the  term,  a  pre-existence  in  which  there  was  the  conscious 
surrender  of  a  larger  and  more  joyous  life  in  order  to  become 
the  savior  of  men.  Therefore  any  statement  in  regard  to  the 
pre-existence  of  Jesus  which  does  not  involve  the  element  of  con- 
sciousness appears  to  me  not  to  meet  the  exegetical  requirements, 
and  thus  the  theory  of  Dorner  is  no  more  scriptural  than  the 
theory  which  finds  in  the  life  of  Jesus  a  fuller  manifestation  of 
the  divine  life  which  has  been  in  the  world  all  along. 

All  that  we  can  say  is  that  each  age  must  use  its  own  thought 
as  best  it  can,  and  perhaps  the  most  that  can  be  expected  is  a 
union  in  sympathy  and  in  general  results.  As  the  philosophy 
of  one  age  cannot  be  that  of  another,  so  the  thought  of  any  given 
age  cannot  flow  altogether  naturally  into  all  the  forms  of  state- 
ment that  have  been  used  by  former  ages.  The  New  Testament 
writers  start  from  the  philosophy  of  their  day  and  use  the  terms 
that  are  offered  to  them.  At  the  period  (!in  which  they  lived 
the  monarchical  idea  was  still  supreme  in  the  world,  and  men 
were  judged  more  or  less  according  to  the  outward  dignity  of 
their  position.  It  was  natural,  therefore,  that  Jesus  should 
be  exalted  as  having  a  special  place  in  the  history  and  govern- 
ment and  creation  of  the  world.  Nowadays  we  are  reaching 
theoretically,  although  as  yet  not  practically,  the  thought  that 
honor  does  not  depend  upon  external  position.  It  is  the  spirit- 
ual life,  the  life  of  love  and  consecration,  which  alone  is  divine 
and  wholly  glorious.  We  recognize  the  supremacy  which  Jesus 
recognized,  the  supremacy  of  service,  and  we  measure  greatness 

i  System  der  ChriMlichen  Glaubenslehre,  Vol.  II,  p.  419. 


332  CONSCIOUS    LIFE    COMPLETE    IN   JESUS 

by  the  greatness  of  service  consciously  and  gladly  rendered.  If, 
in  place  of  the  lofty  dignities  which  the  early  Church  delighted 
to  bring  to  Jesus,  Ave  offer  this  higher  honor,  we  may  feel  that  we 
are  still  one  in  spirit  with  that  early  Church,  no  matter  how  much 
our  forms  of  speech  may  differ.  For  the  recognition  of  the 
spiritual  greatness  of  Jesus  was  nothing  foreign  to  the  thought 
of  the  early  writers, — it  was  fundamental  with  them;  but  they 
surrounded  it  and  thought  to  exalt  it  by  extraneous  honor. 

The  breach  which  was  left  by  the  philosophy  of  Kant  between 
man  and  his  environment  was  filled  by  the  philosophy  of  Hegel. 
That  was  a  theoretical  process.  It  is  a  practical  process  that 
we  are  now  considering.  In  this  coming  of  the  divine  life  to  con- 
sciousness in  man  Baur  finds  the  real  doctrine  of  the  Atonement. 
Here,  he  says,  is  the  objective  element  which  the  Church  has 
sought.  In  the  Incarnation  something  has  actually  been  done.1 
So  far  merely  as  this  is  concerned  I  should  agree  with  him.  But 
it  seems  to  me  that  Baur's  thought,  and  the  thought  of  Hegel  as 
represented  by  Baur,  is  not  complete.  It  appears  to  imply  only 
the  intellectual  recognition  of  the  fact.  Man  has  learned  at  last 
that  his  life  is  one  with  the  life  of  God.  He  has  lost  the  sense  of 
strangeness  toward  God  and  has  recognized  himself  as  God's 
child.  This  merely  intellectual  recognition,  however,  seems  to 
me  to  represent  only  a  part  of  the  work  of  Jesus.  And  not  only 
so,  but  as  a  part  is  seen  imperfectly  always  when  taken  thus 
separately  without  the  whole,  the  intellectual  discovery  itself  is 
not  fully  represented  by  such  a  statement.  The  phrase  in  the 
Gospel  according  to  John  expresses  the  full  thought  more  truly, — 
"  as  many  as  received  him,  to  them  gave  he  the  right  to  become 
children  of  God."  2  The  gospel  of  Jesus  is  not  merely  the  pro- 
clamation, "You  are  the  sons  of  God,"  but  rather  the  summons 
to  become  the  sons  of  God.  Or  if  we  accept  his  message  as  a 
declaration  it  is  a  declaration  of  potentiality  rather  than  of  act- 
uality; man  is  potentially  the  son  of  God. 

1  Vorlesungenben  uber  die  Chrisilichen  Dogmengeschichte,  Vol.  Ill,   p.  565  f. 
Die  Christiiche  Lehre  von  der  Versdhmmg,  p.  688  f. 
3  John,  i,  12. 


CONSCIOUS   LIFE    COMPLETE    IN   JESUS  333 

It  is  true  that  this  potentiality  represents  an  actuality.  Man 
could  not  be  potentially  a  son  of  God,  in  the  sense  in  which  I  am 
using  the  term,  unless  he  was  actually  a  son  of  God.  On  the 
one  hand  man  must  have  that  relation  to  God  which  makes  the 
potentiality  real,  there  must  be  in  him  some  germ  of  the  divine 
life;  and  on  the  other  hand  God  must  be  conceived  as  willing  to 
receive  man,  and  as  occupying  toward  him  a  parental  relation. 
Yet  these  two  factors,  the  germ  of  the  higher  life  within,  and 
the  waiting  love  of  the  divine  life  behind  and  above,  only  represent 
the  possibility  by  which  man,  through  the  development  of  the 
principle  within  him,  may  enter  upon  the  supreme  life  and  claim 
his  inheritance.  Liberalism  in  religion,  like  liberalism  in  politics, 
often  makes  a  profound  mistake  in  resting  in  the  declaration  of 
fact  instead  of  going  on  to  utter  the  summons  to  that  which  is 
possible.  The  demagogue  proclaims  that  all  men  are  born  free 
and  equal.  But  the  real  function  of  democracy  is  not  to  produce 
in  men  this  sense  of  equality  or  supremacy,  but  to  arouse  them 
to  the  possibility  that  is  before  them.  "It  is  possible  for  you," 
it  tells  them,  "to  accomplish  a  life  that  shall  be  the  equal  of  any 
life.  You  are  called  to  the  highest,  and  there  is  no  external 
obstacle  that  shall  keep  you  from  the  highest."  Democracy 
should  be  a  levelling  upward  and  not  a  levelling  downward.  In 
a  similar  way  liberalism  in  religion  does  not  fulfil  its  function 
simply  by  the  indiscriminate  preaching  of  this  absolute  relation 
between  man  and  God.  It  must  indeed  recognize  those  two 
factors  of  the  germ  of  the  highest  life  within  and  the  divine  father- 
hood whose  love  extends  to  all.  But  this  is  incomplete,  and  the 
result  will  be  very  incomplete,  unless  the  soul  is  stimulated  to 
fulfil  the  potentiality  that  is  involved,  and  to  heed  the  Father's 
call. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

CHRISTIANITY  AS  THE  ABSOLUTE  RELIGION. — THE  THREE  IDEAS 
OF  THE  REASON  THE  TEST  OF  ABSOLUTE  RELIGION. — CHRIS- 
TIANITY AND  UNITY. — CHRISTIANITY  AND  GOODNESS. CHRIS- 
TIANITY AND  BEAUTY. — CHRISTIANITY  AND  THE  NEEDS  OF 
THE  UNDERSTANDING  AND  THE  HEART. — THE  TEACHING 
OF  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT. — CHRISTIANITY  AND  MODERN 
THOUGHT. 

Apart  from  all  technical  discussion,  and  considering  the  work 
of  Christ  and  the  nature  of  Christianity  in  themselves,  are 
we  to  say  that  Christianity  is  the  absolute  religion?  The 
question  presents  itself  under  two  aspects,  one  theoretical,  the 
other  practical.  Under  the  first  of  these  I  am  going  to  offer 
two  propositions:  first,  that  Christianity  is  a  religion  more  per- 
fect than  any  other  that  is  known  to  us,  and  second,  that  as  a 
religion  it  can  never  be  surpassed.  In  a  certain  sense  the  first 
of  these  propositions  is  not  essential  to  the  thesis  that  Christianity 
is  the  absolute  religion.  For  we  can  conceive  it  possible  that 
this  absolute  religion  might  have  presented  itself  under  different 
forms,  starting  from  different  centres,  so  that  we  should  find  in 
various  parts  of  the  world  a  number  of  religions,  each  of  which 
should  embody  the  absolute  ideal  of  religion  and  each  be  as  per- 
fect as  another,  and  thus  it  would  be  a  matter  of  accident  or  choice 
whether  one  form  or  another  were  accepted.  These  different 
forms  might  coalesce,  whether  under  a  name  already  existing  as 
applied  to  one  of  them,  or  under  some  new  name;  or  since  the 
religions  were  all  at  heart  identical  and  were  recognized  as  such, 
the  need  of  any  common  name  might  not  be  felt.  This  is  all 
conceivable.  Yet  as  students  of  history  we  are  obliged  to  recog- 
nize the  difference  between  the  various  religions,  and  to  compare 


THE    TEST  OF   ABSOLUTE    RELIGION  335 

them  with  one  another  according  to  the  degree  of  perfection  or 
imperfection  that  we  find  in  them. 

The  question  has  been  raised  whether  such  comparisons  do 
not  imply  a  certain  provincialism  in  those  who  undertake  them, — 
whether  the  broader  course  is  not  simply  to  take  the  form  of 
religion  most  natural  to  us  and  make  the  best  of  it  that  we  can. 
It  is  true  that  there  is  a  provincial  way  of  judging  others.  But 
we  must  recognize  the  fact  that  there  is  an  absolute  standard  for 
religion  as  there  is  for  morality,  and  that  because  it  is  possible 
to  form  a  judgment  from  a  provincial  point  of  view  it  does  not 
follow  that  it  is  impossible  for  one  to  make  his  comparison  by  the 
absolute  standard.  I  may  visit  Paris  and  learn  much,  and  have 
my  views  greatly  broadened;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  I  am  to 
regard  the  laxity  of  the  ordinary  Parisian  attitude  in  regard  to 
the  marriage  relation  as  equally  estimable  with  the  more  careful 
regard  in  which  that  relation  is  held  by  certain  other  peoples. 
The  shrinking  from  emphasis,  from  the  recognition  of  the  real 
perspective  in  things,  is  one  of  the  failings  of  our  time.  If  in 
studying  the  various  forms  of  religion  we  regard  them  simply 
as  so  many  manifestations  of  the  religious  feeling,  we  shall  only 
make  a  mush  of  the  whole  examination;  we  shall  have  lost  the 
delicacy  and  accuracy  which  belong  to  any  true  historical  study. 
For  religions  do  differ  among  themselves ;  they  differ  in  the  em- 
phasis that  is  placed  upon  the  various  aspects  of  the  religious  life. 

Yet  it  is  true  that  we  may  easily  be  prejudiced  in  our  judgment 
of  Christianity.  For  it  is  hard  to  subordinate  our  associations 
with  the  forms  of  a  religion  into  which  we  are  born.  Either  we 
may  err  from  too  great  sympathy  with  those  forms,  or  in  the  ef- 
fort not  to  let  such  sympathy  interfere  with  our  judgment  we  may 
fail  to  appreciate  them  at  their  full  value;  in  the  desire  to  stand 
erect  men  sometimes  bend  backward.  Any  test,  therefore,  by 
which  we  are  to  determine  whether  Christianity  is  absolute  as  com- 
pared with  other  religions,  must  be  objective,  and  the  only  ob- 
jective test  that  we  can  use  is  the  psychological  test.  The  abso- 
lute religion  must  satisfy  the  whole  nature  of  man, — his  under- 
standing, his  affections  and  his  will.     It  must  cover  perfectly  the 


336  CHRISTIANITY  AND  UNITY 

psychological  scheme  of  life,  the  three  ideas  of  the  reason,  unity, 
goodness  and  beauty,  just  as  without  religion  those  psychologi- 
cal elements  could  not  obtain  full  and  free  manifestation.  This 
is  the  test  which  must  be  applied  to  Christianity.  How  far  does 
Christianity  adapt  itself  to  these  psychological  elements,  these 
fundamental  facts  of  human  nature  ? 

First  of  all,  then,  no  religion  can  meet  what  is  required  in  the 
first  idea  of  the  reason  which  is  not  theoretically  or  practically 
a  monotheism.  Now  Christianity  is  monotheistic;  its  God  is 
one,  and  absolute;  the  three  Persons  of  the  Trinitarian  Christian 
are  still  one  God.  It  may  be  said  that  in  its  earliest  form  Chris- 
tianity did  not  recognize  a  unity,  but  rather  a  divided  universe, 
a  dualism  such  as  appears  in  the  Mazdean  religion.  But  if  the 
fundamental  principle  is  found,  we  need  not  be  disturbed  if  it 
is  not  at  once  fully  carried  out,  and  the  devil  of  Christianity  was 
a  created  being,  and  a  being  that  was  to  be  overcome.  The  unity 
of  God  was  to  reinforce  itself,  on  the  one  hand  by  love,  as  men 
should  voluntarily  yield  themselves,  and  on  the  other  hand  by 
power,  through  the  subjugation  of  all  elements  foreign  to  itself. 
The  closing  words  of  the  parable  of  the  judgment  between  the 
sheep  and  the  goats  1  may  seem  to  contradict  this.  But  we  must 
bear  in  mind  both  that  it  is  a  parable,  and  also  that  the  eschato- 
logical  utterances  attributed  to  Jesus  reflect  the  current  thought  of 
the  time.  Paul  takes  another  view  when  he  writes  to  the  Romans 
"that  a  hardening  in  part  hath  befallen  Israel,  until  the  fulness 
of  the  Gentiles  be  come  in;  and  so  all  Israel  shall  be  saved."  2 

There  is  a  unity,  however,  more  profound  than  the  mere  mono- 
theism of  a  religion,  the  unity  which  consists  in  the  interpenetration 
of  the  finite  by  the  infinite  spirit.  This  mystical  element  which 
is  so  essential  to  all  deeper  forms  of  religious  life  and  thought  is 
central  and  fundamental  in  Christianity.  It  is  found  in  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  assumption  that  a  way  is  open  between 
the  finite  and  the  infinite  by  which  the  infinite  life  may  become 
one  with  the  finite,  and  the  finite,  not  only  through  obedience 
but  by  interpenetration,  may  become  one  with  the  infinite.     This 

i  Matthew,  xxv,  46.  2  Romans,  xi,  25,  26. 


CHRISTIANITY    AND  GOODNESS  337 

doctrine  finds  expression  in  Christianity  from  the  first.  It  ap- 
pears in  such  passages  in  the  New  Testament  as  the  familiar 
words  of  Paul  on  Mars  Hill,  "for  in  him  we  live,  and  move,  and 
have  our  being,"  *  or  those  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians,  "one 
God  and  Father  of  all,  who  is  over  all,  and  through  all,  and  in 
all,"  2  and  again,  in  the  First  Epistle  of  John,  "God  is  love;  and 
he  that  abideth  in  love  abideth  in  God,  and  God  abideth  in  him."  3 
Christianity  in  its  beginnings  does  not  give  a  philosophy  of  the 
world,  but  we  find  in  it  the  elements  which  may  expand  into  such 
a  philosophy.  In  the  Mazdean  belief  there  is  no  similar  ele- 
ment of  mysticism.  Brahmanism  does  recognize  the  unity  of 
the  spirit,  but  it  is  to  be  attained  not  through  manifestation  in 
the  finite  but  by  withdrawal  from  the  finite.  It  is  true  that  in 
Christianity  asceticism  has  at  times  laid  stress  upon  withdrawal 
from  the  world  as  helpful  or  necessary  to  the  attainment  of  the 
spiritual  life,  but  this  aspect  of  Christianity  has  been  partial  and 
temporary.  Self-denial  is  characteristic  of  Christianity,  but  it 
is  self-denial  not  for  its  own  sake  but  as  a  means  to  a  greater  end. 
We  find  unity  again  in  still  another  form  when  we  proceed  to 
ask  how  far  the  requirements  of  the  second  idea  of  the  reason  are 
fulfilled  in  Christianity.  For  a  fundamental  characteristic  of 
Christianity  is  the  absolute  blending  of  religion  and  morality; 
the  religious  ideal  is  the  ethical  ideal.  Now  a  union  between 
religion  and  morality  may  be  brought  about  by  causing  religion 
to  swallow  up  morality,  so  that  a  man  is  regarded  as  moral  if  he 
fulfils  the  formal  requirements  of  his  church.  Or  religion  may  be 
swallowed  up  in  morality,  and  the  effort  to  promote  the  good  of 
society  held  to  be  all  that  constitutes  a  man  a  religious  person. 
But  in  the  coalescence  of  religion  and  morality  in  Christianity 
neither  sacrifices  anything  of  its  real  nature.  Both  remain,  not 
as  separate  elements,  but  rather  as  different  aspects  of  the  same 
thing.  It  is  this  which  makes  possible  the  larger  view  by  which 
religion  may  be  regarded  as  including  the  whole  of  life.  Not 
that  all  of  life  is  religious;  it  was  not  George  Herbert's  thought 
that  every  one  "  who  sweeps  a  room  "  is  performing  a  religious  act. 

1  Acti,  xvii,  28.  2  Ephesians,  iv,  6.  3 1  John,  iv,  16. 


338  CHRISTIANITY   AND    GOODNESS 

But  the  various  relations  of  life  which  call  for  the  activity  of  men 
are  all  forms  which  may  be  filled  with  the  religious  content.  They 
are  all  instruments  which  the  religious  life  may  use.  Morality 
becomes  glorified  by  religion,  and  religion  is  made  concrete  and 
vital  by  morality.  God  is  regarded  as  the  absolutely  good,  and 
the  goodness  of  God  is  something  that  may  be  made  the  ideal  of 
human  life,— "Ye  therefore  shall  be  perfect,  as  your  heavenly 
Father  is  perfect."1  It  is  said  that  the  word  "perfect"  in  this 
passage  is  to  be  taken  in  a  special  sense,  as  applying  simply  to 
the  equal  manifestation  of  love  to  all  alike,  but  even  with  this 
limitation  we  still  have  the  divine  set  before  us  as  the  ideal  of  the 
human. 

The  blending  of  the  two  elements  appears  conspicuously  in  the 
life  of  Jesus,  and  in  all  his  teaching.  We  find  in  Jesus,  on  the 
one  hand  the  loftiness  of  thought,  the  mystical  sense,  which  is 
so  often  associated  with  separation  from  the  world,  and  on  the 
other  hand  a  practicalness  of  life,  a  continuous  relationship  with 
others.  The  two  are  not  separated  one  from  the  other,  but  are 
only  different  aspects  of  the  same  life.  Of  course  one  aspect  may 
be  emphasized  sometimes  more  than  the  other;  Jesus  may  with- 
draw to  the  mountain  or  the  wilderness  for  prayer  and  commun- 
ion. But  this  is  no  more  than  to  say  that  any  one  who  is  engaged 
in  the  activities  of  the  world  must  pause,  if  only  to  take  food  and 
sleep  and  refresh  the  bodily  strength.  The  spirit  as  well  as  the 
body  must  have  its  nutriment,  and  just  as  the  pause  in  any  busy 
life  makes  no  break  in  it  but  rather  is  the  condition  of  its  con- 
tinued activity,  so  these  pauses  for  spiritual  refreshment  in  the 
life  of  Jesus  are  only  a  condition  necessary  to  its  continuance. 
We  hear  it  said  sometimes  by  those  who  emphasize  the  ethical 
aspect  of  life  that  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  suffices  for  them,  with 
the  implication  that  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  is  simply  ethical. 
But  in  reality  it  is  saturated  with  religion.  There  is  hardly  a 
phrase  that  does  not  point  to  God.  It  is  like  a  road  that  runs 
along  by  the  sea,  on  which  every  now  and  then,  through  open- 
ings among  the  trees,  we  look  out  upon  the  ocean.  "  Blessed  are 
the  pure  in  heart,"— here  is  ethics;  but  Jesus  adds,  "for  they 
i  Matthew,  v,  48. 


CHRISTIANITY    AND    GOODNESS  339 

shall  see  God,"  and  the  precept  is  given  its  divine  aspect.  "  Blessed 
are  the  peacemakers," — yes,  "for  they  shall  be  called  sons  of 
God." 

I  have  spoken  of  the  two  elements  as  blending.  They  blend 
so  completely  that  we  cannot  separate  them.  It  has  been  brought 
forward  as  a  great  discovery  by  some  writers  of  comparatively 
recent  days  that  the  lofty  attributes  ascribed  to  God  are  human 
attributes,  that  men  are  worshipping  in  God  simply  that  which 
is  most  excellent  in  humanity,  and  that  in  serving  God  they  are 
serving  only  that  which  is  best  in  the  life  of  men.  But  the  dis- 
covery is  not  new.  It  dates  back  to  Jesus  himself.  He  set  the 
thought  of  the  life  of  God  as  the  ideal  for  the  life  of  men,  and 
placed  the  service  of  God  in  the  service  of  men.  This  is  pre- 
cisely the  result  which  we  should  expect  to  find,  if  we  assume  a 
community  of  nature  between  God  and  man.  Morality  under 
this  aspect  receives  its  perfect  development.  Through  this  rela- 
tion between  morality  and  religion  it  is  open  to  morality  to  tran- 
scend itself  and  become  love.  Minute  regulations  of  law  and 
obedience  give  place  to  an  animating  spirit.  The  individual 
lives  the  life  of  righteousness  not  under  compulsion  or  through 
the  sense  of  duty  but  from  his  own  desire.  Morality  has  ceased, 
but  only  because  it  has  been  raised  to  a  higher  power.  Goodness 
has  become  "bonus  et  plus  quam  bonus." 

Now  if  we  compare  other  religions  with  Christianity  in  this 
respect,  we  find  either  that  forms,  more  or  less  arbitrary  and 
technical,  take  the  place  of  the  spiritual  element,  or  if  the  forms 
are  less  conspicuous  the  inspiring  principle  still  is  not  present  as 
in  Christianity.  Thus  the  Chinese  religion  is  wholly  lacking  in  the 
mystical  element.  The  sublime  thought  of  God  which  appears 
in  the  Mazdean  and  Hebrew  religions  is  in  both  shut  in  by  a 
complex  ceremonial  which  binds  the  believer  at  every  moment. 
If  the  typical  Buddhist  were  to  attain  his  ideal  the  life  of  the 
world  would  cease,  whereas  if  all  men  were  typical  Christians 
the  life  of  the  world  would  continue,  growing  better  and  better. 
Buddhism  is  essentially  the  incarnation  of  pessimism.  To  the 
Christian  the  good  in  civilization  has  nothing  in  it  which  Chris- 


340  CHRISTIANITY    AND    GOODNESS 

tianity  cannot  inspire  yet  further,  and  the  evils  of  civilization  per- 
sist only  because  true  Christianity  is  still  so  imperfectly  practised. 
As  compared  with  other  religions,  then,  Christianity  presents 
on  the  one  hand  greater  freedom  from  external,  restraining  forms, 
and  on  the  other  hand  a  greater  intensity  of  spiritual  life, — a 
spiritual  life  which  is  at  one  with  the  ethical  life.  Yet  precepts 
for  conduct  are  given  in  the  New  Testament,  and  is  not  the  moral- 
ity conveyed  in  them  imperfect?  Are  the  passive  virtues  which 
they  inculcate  real  ?  Are  not  peacemaking  and  long-suffering 
and  gentleness  carried  too  far?  Is  not  the  charity  of  the  New 
Testament  a  wasteful  almsgiving  ?  Nietzsche  says  that  the  Chris- 
tian virtues  are  those  of  slaves,  and  that  true  virtue  appears  in 
manliness  and  self-assertion.  But  the  Jews  were  slaves,  and 
from  the  heart  of  Judaism  came  the  teaching  which  found  the 
ideal  of  conduct  in  a  slave's  virtues.  It  was  by  the  irony  of  his- 
tory that  the  Jews  cast  out  their  own  teacher.1  That  Nietzsche 
should  write  in  this  strain  is  not  remarkable.  But  what  is  of 
more  interest  to  us  is  that  there  is  a  cult  which  follows  him ;  there 
are  many  whose  feeling  he  expresses.  Furthermore,  if  we  con- 
sider these  virtues  in  the  abstract,  such  criticism  is  just.  They 
find  their  place  only  as  they  are  related  to  something  higher  and 
better  than  themselves.  There  are  two  elements  in  New  Testa- 
ment morality,  on  the  one  hand  these  passive  virtues,  and  on  the 
other  hand  service.  Taken  apart  from  service  the  passive  virt- 
ues have  not  a  high  value,  for  if  a  man  has  only  himself  to  care 
for,  he  may  as  well  assert  himself.  But  when  one's  object  in 
life  is  the  service  of  others  that  is  inspired  by  love,  self-assertion 
becomes  petty;  one  has  something  more  important  to  do  than  to 
stand  up  for  little  individual  rights  or  to  avenge  little  personal 
insults.  Thus  the  passive  virtues  find  their  proper  background 
in  the  larger  interests  of  Christianity.  The  question  as  to  charity 
in  the  New  Testament  I  shall  consider  a  little  later  in  another 
connection.2 

iJenseits  van  Gut  und  Bdse.     Der  Wille  zur  Macht  (Werke,  Leipzig,  1901, 
Vol.  XV),  pp.  105-159. 
2  Page  350. 


CHRISTIANITY  AND   BEAUTY  341 

While  goodness  is  thus  supreme  in  Christianity,  it  is  not  the 
only  thing  that  is  insisted  upon.  The  whole  nature  is  satisfied. 
In  the  blending  of  the  mystical,  spiritual  element  with  morality 
the  requirements  of  the  third  idea  of  the  reason  are  fulfilled,  and 
we  have  the  possibility  of  beauty.  For  beauty  is  the  manifesta- 
tion of  the  ideal  in  the  real,1  and  if  the  life  of  the  world  is  made 
the  manifestation  of  the  divine  life,  then  it  becomes  beautiful.  I 
need  not  dwell  here  upon  the  recognition  of  beauty  which  appears 
from  time  to  time  in  the  New  Testament, — the  reference  of  Jesus 
to  the  lilies  of  the  field,  his  use  of  the  child's  nature,  in  its  spon- 
taneousness  and  freedom,  to  symbolize  the  religious  life.  These 
are  after  all  only  incidents.  Beauty  is  fulfilled  in  Christianity 
because  through  the  presence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  the  ideal  life, 
the  divine  life,  is  manifested  in  the  life  of  man.  And  if  we  turn 
from  the  positive  to  the  negative  aspect,  suffering  is  no  longer  a 
discord  in  the  harmony  of  life,  according  to  the  Christian  view, 
but  is  transmuted  and  becomes  itself  an  element  in  that  harmony ; 
the  Cross  is  glorified.  As  some  one  has  said,  when  men  see  in 
some  countenance  an  expression  of  peculiar  beauty  they  ask, 
"What  has  this  life  suffered?"  for  it  is  the  victory  in  and  through 
suffering  which  brings  such  transformation  and  illumination.  It 
is  true  that  Christianity  brought  with  it  in  its  earlier  develop- 
ment a  reaction  against  outward  beauty,  and  that  such  beauty 
was  felt  to  be  a  temptation  to  men  to  sin.  But  this  was  only 
natural.  For  the  first  battle  of  Christianity  was  an  ethical  and 
spiritual  one,  and  beauty  ministered  to  pagan  religions.  Still 
later  the  Christian  turned  his  back  upon  the  outward  world  alto- 
gether, with  all  that  belonged  to  it.  But  this  separation  of  the 
spiritual  from  the  worldly  had  its  value  in  emphasizing  the  su- 
premacy of  the  spiritual  life,  so  that  when  the  spiritual  and  the 
worldly  should  be  again  united,  the  spiritual  should  use  the 
worldly  and  not  be  used  by  it.  When  the  time  of  that  reunion 
came,  the  Church  called  forth  a  glory  of  outward  beauty  in  art 
beyond  all  that  ever  before  had  been  accomplished.  For  the 
Greek  ideal  of  beauty  had  over-emphasized  the  bodily  life,  but 
Christian  art  embodied  the  highest  ideal  of  the  spiritual, 
i  Page  61. 


342  CHRISTIANITY    AND    THE    WHOLE    NATURE 

Apart,  however,  from  all  question  of  outward  beauty  no  other 
form  of  religion  fulfils  so  completely  the  requirements  of  the 
third  idea  of  the  reason.  The  recognition  of  beauty  is  not  found 
in  the  Mazdean  religion.  Buddhism  recognizes  the  divine  life 
in  the  world,  and  the  world  as  in  a  certain  sense  part  of  the  divine 
life;  but  the  world  is  still  unreal,  a  delusion,  in  which  beauty 
can  have  little  place.  The  religion  of  the  Greeks  presents  beauty 
as  its  most  characteristic  element.  Indeed,  the  Greek  religion 
emphasizes  too  soon  the  element  of  beauty.  For  goodness  should 
take  precedence  of  beauty,  and  the  ethical  element  in  the  religion 
of  the  Greeks  is  at  the  minimum.  But  even  so,  beauty  is  less 
fundamental  in  the  Greek  religion  than  in  Christianity,  for 
instead  of  the  sense  of  an  absolute  divine  unity  there  is  poly- 
theism, and  suffering  remains  unreconciled  with  the  harmony 
of  life.  It  is  true  that  among  later  minds  a  loftier  religion  is 
revealed;  but  even  with  Plato  the  idea  of  God  is  less  definitely 
wrought  out  than  the  Christian  conception,  and  there  is  far  less 
place  for  personal  piety. 

When  I  said  that  in  Christianity  the  whole  nature  is  satisfied, 
I  had  first  of  all  in  mind  the  requirements  of  unity,  goodness 
and  beauty.  But  Christianity  also  has  a  place  for  the  under- 
standing, the  power  of  analysis  or  differentiation,  as  contrasted 
with  the  reason,  the  power  by  which  the  unity  of  life  is  recognized. 
For,  unlike  Brahmanism,  it  does  not  sink  everything  in  the  first 
idea  of  the  reason;  the  individual  has  his  place.  The  infinite 
spirit  is  in  the  finite,  but  every  human  life  preserves  its  indi- 
viduality as  a  single  manifestation  of  the  infinite  life.  The 
needs  of  the  heart,  too,  are  met  by  Christianity  with  a  fulness 
which  all  admit.  It  is  a  religion  of  the  love  of  God  toward  man. 
The  personal  affections  may  sometimes  be  subordinated,  as  when 
Jesus  tells  the  disciples  that  "he  that  loveth  father  or  mother 
more  than  me  is  not  worthy  of  me,"  *  but  only  that  larger  rela- 
tions may  be  emphasized.  And  in  no  other  religion  has  the 
hope  of  immortality  so  large  a  place,  with  all  that  such  a  hope 
means  for  human  affections. 

I  have  considered  thus  far  the  first  of   the  two   propositions 
i  Matthew,  x,  37. 


CHRISTIANITY  NOT    TO    BE    SURPASSED  343 

which  I  presented  under  the  theoretical  aspect  of  the  question 
whether  Christianity  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  absolute  religion. 
We  turn  now  to  the  second  proposition,  that  as  a  religion  Chris- 
tianity can  never  be  surpassed.  More  hesitation  may  be  felt 
in  accepting  this  second  proposition.  It  may  be  said  that  we 
are  here  putting  a  limit  to  progress.  What  right  have  we,  it 
may  be  asked,  to  assume  that  the  point  that  has  been  reached 
in  Christianity  is  a  final  point  ?  We  admit  the  danger  of  such  a 
mistake,  and  we  need  to  understand  clearly  what  we  mean  when 
we  say  that  Christianity  cannot  be  surpassed.  I  do  not  under- 
stand this  proposition  as  at  all  setting  a  limit  to  progress,  for 
we  must  all  see  both  the  necessity  and  the  possibility  of  a  measure- 
less progress.  I  am  only  recognizing  the  nature  of  this  progress. 
That  which  cannot  be  surpassed  is  the  nature  of  Christianity, 
or,  in  other  words,  while  the  process  by  which  its  outline  is  to 
be  filled  may  go  on  indefinitely,  the  outline  itself  will  remain. 
In  all  branches  of  study  we  find  something  which  we  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  regard  as  fixed.  Who  expects  that  the  law  of  gravitation 
is  ever  to  be  superseded  ?  We  may  come  to  understand  it  better, 
and  the  field  of  its  application  may  be  vastly  widened,  for  we 
have  thus  far  applied  it  only  to  a  little  group  of  worlds,  and  here 
is  a  whole  universe  before  us !  But  the  most  skeptical  mind  has 
no  doubt  that  if  we  could  reach  the  farthest  world,  we  should 
still  find  the  manifestation  of  this  law.  Yet  who  would  main- 
tain that  in  affirming  its  finality  we  were  setting  a  limit  to  the 
progress  of  science?  Rather,  the  fact  that  certain  fixed  points 
have  been  reached  is  that  which  makes  the  progress  of  science 
possible.  And  if  this  is  true  of  science,  why  should  we  not  expect 
to  find  it  true  of  the  spiritual  life  as  well?  If  we  assume  that 
this  proposition  in  regard  to  Christianity  is  true,  then  instead 
of  checking  progress  in  religion  either  it  or  something  akin  to  it 
is  needed  to  make  religious  progress  possible.  Besides,  there  is 
this  great  difference  between  a  physical  law  like  that  of  Newton 
and  the  principle  of  Christianity,  that  whereas  the  law  of  gravita- 
tion is  based  only  on  induction,  the  principle  of  Christianity, 
the  principle  on  which  I  have  rested  this  proposition,  is  based 


344  CHRISTIANITY   NOT   TO    BE  SURPASSED 

on  a  deductive  process;  it  is  the  result  of  the  analysis  of  the 
human  soul.  For  we  have  found  it  possible  to  analyze  the  factors 
that  enter  into  the  spiritual  life.  We  have  learned  what  methods 
of  activity  are  open  to  the  spirit.  If,  therefore,  we  have  a  form 
of  religion  which  satisfies  these  elements  of  the  spiritual  nature, 
we  may  be  very  sure  that  until  new  elements  are  discovered  such 
a  form  of  religion  cannot  be  surpassed. 

This  does  not  imply  that  the  world  will  always  be  religious. 
The  thought  of  man  may  drift  away  from  religion.  Of  course, 
if  men  were  to  give  up  the  thought  of  God,  they  would  be  giving 
up  one  of  the  fundamental  conceptions  of  Christianity;  a  religion 
of  humanity  would  necessarily  be  quite  different  from  Chris- 
tianity. But  in  all  such  changes  religion  has  become  less  intense. 
Positivism,  for  instance,  is  less  intense  than  Christianity.  If 
the  world  were  to  pass  from  Christianity  to  a  religion  of  humanity, 
it  would  be  because  it  was  passing  out  from  the  focus  of  religion. 
The  thought  of  God,  the  spiritual  life  which  is  in  and  over  all 
things,  from  which  and  through  which  and  to  which  are  all  things, 
is  the  culminating  thought  of  religion,  and  any  change  in  which 
men  pass  away  from  this  central  position  will  be  a  lessening  of 
religion.  Therefore  it  cannot  be  urged  that  men  may  advance 
beyond  Christianity,  for  such  a  movement  would  mean  only  a 
lessened  intensity  in  religion.  At  least  this  would  be  true  so 
long  as  man  continued  to  be  man.  There  is  the  a  priori  possi- 
bility that  man  may  develop  new  faculties,  new  ideas  of  the  rea- 
son, a  new  power  that  shall  be  as  high  above  the  reason  as  the 
reason  is  above  the  understanding.  But  in  such  a  case  man 
would  cease  to  be  man  and  become  a  new  creation,  and  we  have 
already  found  reason  to  assume  that  man  can  never  thus  out- 
grow himself  or  be  outstripped  upon  the  earth  as  he  has  out- 
stripped all  other  creatures.1  We  based  our  assumption  on  two 
considerations.  On  the  one  hand  we  saw  that  since  man  is  a 
tool-using  creature  with  all  the  powers  of  nature  more  and  more 
at  his  command,  any  new  creation  in  order  to  surpass  him  physi- 
cally must  be  swifter  than  steam  or  electricity,  and  stronger  than 
all  the  forces  of  nature  that  man  can  use.  On  the  other  hand 
i  Page  207. 


CHRISTIANITY   NOT   TO    BE    SURPASSED  345 

we  found  in  man  intellectually  and  spiritually  the  capacity  for 
infinite  progress  without  change  of  nature;  we  found  in  mem- 
ory the  power  of  human  thought  to  take  up  and  preserve  the 
results  of  past  achievement  and  make  them  the  starting-point 
for  new  achievement.  Furthermore,  so  far  as  concerns  any 
need  of  new  faculties,  we  have  in  man's  nature  as  we  have  already 
analyzed  it,  the  simplicity  of  perception,  the  differentiation  of 
the  understanding,  the  higher  unity  of  the  reason.  This  higher 
unity  passes  through  the  three  stages  of  truth,  or  that  which  is, 
of  goodness,  or  that  which  ought  to  be,  and  of  beauty,  or  that 
which  is  as  it  ought  to  be.  We  can  conceive  of  no  progress  which 
would  not  be  related  to  these  elements  or  principles,  or  which 
would  not  be  covered  by  them. 

There  are  still  certain  other  qualifications  which  must  be 
recognized.  In  saying  that  Christianity  is  the  absolute  religion, 
we  do  not  say  that  it  is  perfect.  All  that  we  have  said  is  that  it 
presents  the  sphere,  it  lays  down  the  limits,  within  which  develop- 
ment and  progress  are  to  take  place,  just  as  in  the  law  of  gravita- 
tion are  laid  down  the  limits  within  which  the  study  of  the  heavenly 
bodies  L  to  be  pursued.  Christianity  is  not  perfect,  but  it  con- 
tains within  itself  the  possibility  of  an  infinite  development,  which 
must,  however,  take  place  along  the  lines  and  in  the  direction 
that  are  indicated  by  it.  We  do  not  even  say  that  Christianity  is 
perfect  as  regards  the  laying  down  of  its  general  principles.  In 
studying  any  religion  we  have  to  consider,  on  the  one  hand  the 
highest  point  that  is  reached  in  the  statement  of  it,  and  on  the 
other  hand  its  general  drift.  If  these  two  coincide,  if  the  general 
drift  of  the  religion  is  in  the  direction  of  the  highest  point  that  it 
has  reached,  then  we  may  consider  this  highest  point  truly  repre- 
sentative of  the  religion.  If  the  two  elements  do  not  coincide, 
if  the  general  drift  is  toward  a  lower  level  than  the  highest  point 
that  appears,  then  we  are  left  in  doubt.  For  the  question  arises 
in  such  a  case  whether  this  highest  point  may  not  be  only  an 
accident  rather  than  representative  of  the  essential  spirit  of  the 
religion  as  a  whole.  In  estimating  the  character  of  Buddhism  one 
does  not  make  much  account  of  the  element  of  trance,  because  it 


346  THE    NEW   TESTAMENT   TEACHING 

is  easily  seen  that  this  element  is  foreign  to  the  general  drift  of 
the  religion,  something  which  has  been  taken  up  into  it  from  other 
sources  and  for  which  it  can  hardly  be  considered  responsible. 
Similarly,  the  proposition  that  Christianity  is  the  absolute  religion 
does  not  compel  us  to  insist  that  every  statement  in  the  New 
Testament,  or  everything  that  is  put  into  the  lips  of  Jesus,  shall 
be  fully  in  accord  with  what  we  may  recognize  today  as  essential 
to  absolute  religion,  or  that  all  the  utterances  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment shall  stand  upon  the  same  level.  It  is  sufficient  for  our 
purpose  that  the  general  drift  of  the  teaching  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment and  the  highest  point  that  is  reached  in  it  coincide,  and 
that  these  elements  represent  that  which  we  must  regard  as  the 
absolute  religion.  So  far  as  the  general  drift  is  concerned,  there 
is  great  danger  in  attempting  to  judge  any  teacher  by  isolated 
passages;  it  is  unsafe  to  insist  that  any  teacher  must  always  have 
been  absolutely  true  to  his  highest  thought.  In  saying  this  I  am 
not  suggesting  difficulties  as  actually  presented  in  Christianity, 
but  am  only  defending  the  position  that  we  have  taken  against 
such  criticism  as  might  be  made  upon  it.  But  suppose  a  mathe- 
matician to  discover  and  announce  some  fundamental  principle 
in  mathematics,  and  suppose  that  this  same  mathematician  now 
and  then  makes  an  error  in  the  application  of  his  principle;  the 
truth  of  the  principle  would  remain,  and  it  would  be  by  his  dis- 
covery and  announcement  of  the  principle  that  he  himself  would 
be  judged.  Galileo  on  occasion  may  have  been  for  the  moment 
false  to  himself  and  to  the  truth  which  he  had  discovered,  but 
he  could  not  take  back  what  he  had  given  to  the  world,  and  he 
retains  the  glory  of  his  great  discovery.  Furthermore,  in  the 
case  of  the  New  Testament  we  have  to  recognize  the  looseness 
and  unscientific  character  of  the  record,  and  the  difficulty  in  affirm- 
ing in  regard  to  any  single  passage  taken  by  itself  that  the  lan- 
guage was  actually  that  which  was  used  by  Jesus.  Especially 
in  any  statement  which  is  in  opposition  to  the  general  teaching 
of  Jesus  would  the  possibility  of  mistake  be  greater.  A  blunder- 
ing record  would  be  more  likely  to  contain  statements  below  the 
standard  of  the  teacher  than  anything  that  was  above  that  stand- 


THE    NEW   TESTAMENT   TEACHING  347 

ard;  the  phraseology  of  the  common  thought  of  the  time  would 
be  more  likely  to  creep  into  the  record  than  the  utterances  of  a 
loftier  thought.  We  see  in  the  Gospel  narratives  how  often  the 
disciples  of  Jesus  misunderstood  him,  and  how  many  times  he  had 
to  explain  and  to  remonstrate.  I  know  that  such  a  method  of 
criticism  as  this  is  loose  and  dangerous.  All  that  I  insist  upon  is 
that  so  far  as  the  general  drift  of  the  teaching  of  Jesus  is  con- 
cerned there  can  be  absolutely  no  doubt.  Even  if  the  authority 
of  the  Gospels  as  a  historical  record  were  destroyed,  and  there  re- 
mained of  the  picture  only  the  dust  of  the  canvas,  still  the  image 
that  would  be  left  upon  this  dust  is  unmistakable;  even  Strauss 
admits  that  the  kernel  of  phrases  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
must  be  genuine. x  I  am  not  affirming  the  results  of  negative 
criticism.  I  am  simply  recognizing  the  possibility  of  all  that 
such  criticism  can  accomplish.  Granting,  then,  to  negative 
criticism  its  fullest  possible  swing,  there  can  be  no  doubt  either 
in  regard  to  the  general  teaching  of  Jesus  or  in  regard  to  the  type 
of  the  life  of  Jesus. 

Still  another  difficulty  appears  in  the  danger  of  misinterpreta- 
tion. This  danger  is  one  into  which  the  disciples,  as  I  have  just 
said,  fell  repeatedly.  It  is  a  danger  which  is  attendant  upon  the 
interpretation  of  the  thought  of  any  speaker  or  writer,  especially 
when  he  makes  use  of  figurative  forms  of  expression  to  any  extent. 
In  the  study  of  Plato,  for  instance,  how  difficult  it  is  to  determine 
in  every  case  what  is  only  a  figure  and  what  Plato  intends  to  have 
taken  as  literal  fact.  This  difficulty  has  been  continually  a  source 
of  error  or  uncertainty  in  getting  at  the  meaning  of  the  New 
Testament.  Thus  when  Jesus  says,  "This  is  my  body,"  2  does  he 
mean  that  the  words  shall  be  taken  literally  or  figuratively  ? 
The  Catholic  replies  "literally,"  the  Protestant,  "figuratively." 
There  are  a  number  of  other  passages  of  which  the  interpreta- 
tion is  similarly  doubtful.  What  meaning,  for  instance,  is  to  be 
given  to  the  word  "eternal"  ?  But  I  will  not  dwell  longer  upon 
this.     I  will  simply  repeat    that    such   difficulties  do  not    affect 

i  The  Life  of  Jesus,  Trans,  of  M.  Evans,  Part  II,  Chap.  VI. 
2  Matthew,  xxvi,  27. 


348  THE   NEW    TESTAMENT   TEACHING 

the  position  that  we  have  taken.  There  is  no  question  as 
to  the  general  drift  of  the  New  Testament  teaching,  or 
any  doubt  that  it  is  in  the  direction  of  the  highest  point  that 
is  attained. 

Suppose,  however,  we  are  led  to  conclude  that  it  is  a  mistake 
to  assume  in  Christianity  a  supernatural  element  and  to  ascribe 
to  Jesus  a  supernatural  lordship,  and  yet  find  ourselves  obliged 
to  recognize  in  the  teachirg  of  Jesus  and  in  the  New  Testament 
generally  this  assumption  *  f  the  supernatural  element.  Suppose 
that  we  have  to  ask  ourselves  which  element  is  more  important  in 
historical  Christianity,  the  element  of  supernatural  authority,  or 
the  content,  the  truth  of  absolute  religion,  and  whether  it  is  pos- 
sible to  separate  the  two.  These  questions,  with  others  of  a 
similar  sort,  are  not  for  us  to  discuss  at  any  length  at  present.  I 
refer  to  them  only  that  I  may  ask  how  they  would  affect  the 
central  position  that  we  have  taken  in  regard  to  Christianity 
as  the  absolute  religion.  Now,  whatever  we  may  think  in  regard 
to  the  supernatural  element  in  the  teaching  of  Jesus,  we  find 
it  always  subordinated  to  the  content  of  the  teaching.  Jesus  him- 
self is  constantly  pointing  from  the  form  to  the  content,  and  the 
words,  "Not  every  one  that  saith  unto  me,  Lord,  Lord,  shall 
enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my 
Father  which  is  in  heaven,"1  are  representative  of  the  aspect 
in  this  respect  of  all  his  teaching.  Whatever  view  we  may  take 
of  New  Testament  Christianity  and  the  teaching  of  Jesus,  we 
should  make  a  mistake  if  we  emphasized  the  form  instead  of  the 
content,  if  we  made  the  question  of  the  supernatural  element  as 
important  as  the  substance  of  the  teaching ;  and  supposing  that  we 
rejected  the  supernatural  element,  we  should  make  a  great  mis- 
take if  we  assumed  that  because  this  element  had  lost  its  hold 
upon  us,  we  must  also  give  up  Christianity  itself.  It  seems  to  me 
that  this  is  brought  out  most  strikingly  in  that  difficult  passage 
in  which  Jesus  is  represented  as  declaring  that  every  sin  shall  be 
forgiven  except  the  sin  against  the  Spirit.2  Here  the  Son  is  dis- 
tinctly subordinated  to  the  Holy  Spirit  as  that  principle  of  spirit- 

i  Matthew,  vii,  21.  2  Matthew,  xii,  S1-S2. 


CHRISTIANITY   AND    MODERN   THOUGHT  349 

ual  union  and  fellowship  in  which  is  found  the  absolute  content 
of  Christianity. 

There  is  another  point  of  view,  however,  from  which  the  prop- 
osition that  Christianity  is  the  absolute  religion  may  be  considered. 
It  may  be  urged  that  certain  advances  have  been  made  by  which 
the  nature  of  Christianity  has  been  transformed,  and  that  thus  we 
have  reached  a  religion  which  may  still  call  itself  Christianity, 
but  which  in  reality  is  more  complete  than  Christianity.  Of  these 
advances,  the  first  is  theoretical  and  has  to  do  with  the  nature  of 
our  belief  in  God,  involving  as  it  does  the  relation  of  law  to  love. 
The  second  is  ethical,  and  involves  the  relation  of  political  econ- 
omy to  charity.  It  is  said  that  whereas  the  New  Testament 
recognizes  the  absoluteness  of  the  divine  love,  science  has  taught 
us  to  recognize  only  law,  and  not  to  expect  longer  any  inter- 
ference in  the  order  of  the  universe;  and  whereas  Jesus  taught  an 
absolute  charity,  science  has  so  modified  our  view  of  our  relation 
to  others  that  the  charity  of  the  New  Testament  is  criticised  as 
promiscuous  and  wasteful  and  demoralizing.  Now  it  seems  to 
me  that  in  both  cases  we  have  in  the  teaching  of  Jesus  that  which 
is  essentially  religious,  and  in  the  elements  which  constitute  the 
changes  that  have  taken  place  that  which  is  not  absolutely  relig- 
ious. In  both  cases  the  changes  have  been  simply  in  the  forms 
under  which  the  religious  principle  manifests  itself.  For  we  may 
have  a  most  intense  form  of  religion  which  recognizes  the  abso- 
luteness of  the  divine  love,  with  little  thought  of  law  or  any  form 
of  limitation,  simply  regarding  God  as  one  who  loves  his  children 
and  watches  over  them,  blessing  or  punishing  them  according  to 
their  deserts  and  needs,  and  the  principle  of  love  in  such  a  religion 
remains  unchanged  when  we  come  to  consider  it  as  working 
within  the  limits  or  under  the  forms  of  law;  if  we  have  the  principle 
of  absolute  love,  with  or  without  the  addition  of  law,  we  have 
religion.  But  in  a  world  of  law  alone  there  would  be  no  place 
for  religion  except  as  there  should  be  discovered  behind  the  law, 
and  working  in  and  through  the  law,  the  presence  of  divine  love. 
The  recognition  of  law  simply  modifies  the  external  form  of  relig- 
ion and   not  its  essential  principles.     The  manner  in  which  the 


350  CHRISTIANITY   AND    MODERN   THOUGHT 

religion  of  the  New  Testament  has  taken  possession  of  law  is  only 
another  illustration  of  what  I  have  said  of  the  infinite  possibilities 
of  growth  within  the  outlines  of  absolute  religion.  Furthermore 
it  is  to  be  noticed  that  we  find  in  the  teachings  of  Jesus  himself 
at  least  the  beginnings  of  the  recognition  of  the  law  through  which 
the  divine  love  manifests  itself.  "If  it  be  possible,"  he  is  rep- 
sented  as  praying,  "let  this  cup  pass  away  from  me."1  He  rec- 
ognizes a  limit  which  his  prayer  may  not  transcend.  "First  the 
blade,  then  the  ear,  then  the  full  corn  in  the  ear." 2  In  the  method 
which  he  here  uses  to  illustrate  the  development  of  the  spiritual 
life  is  the  recognition  of  order.  The  influence  of  his  teaching  in 
the  world  was  to  be  in  accordance  with  this  principle  of  gradual 
growth.  He  had  no  expectation  of  a  sudden  transformation  of 
the  world.  Again,  "the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  like  unto  leaven."3 
Here  is  the  germ  of  the  whole  philosophy  of  history,  in  his  percep- 
tion that  the  true  nature  of  his  teaching  would  be  almost  lost  from 
sight,  and  yet  would  retain  its  power  and  by  degrees  slowly  exert 
its  influence  upon  the  world. 

What  I  have  said  of  the  relation  of  law  to  love  is  no  less  true  of 
the  relation  of  political  economy  to  charity.  Political  economy 
by  itself  has  no  ethical  value  whatever;  it  is  only  when  it  is  ani- 
mated by  charity  that  it  has  ethical  value.  Charity  asks,  "How 
can  we  best  help  men?"  With  no  knowledge  of  political  economy 
the  answer  is,  "  Take  your  money  and  give  it  to  the  poor."  But 
political  economy  says,  "In  that  way  you  will  only  injure  them; 
the  way  to  help  men  is  to  lead  them  to  help  themselves."  Does  the 
different  view,  the  different  method,  change  at  all  the  nature  of 
charity  itself,  the  nature  of  love  ?  Does  the  mother  who  brings  up 
her  child  with  wisest  discipline  love  her  child  less  than  the  mother 
who  allows  her  child  to  go  unrestrained?  Does  not  rather  the 
thoughtful,  careful  mother  love  the  more  truly  of  the  two?  In 
all  charity  the  fundamental  principle  is  love,  with  the  desire  to 
serve,  and  this  desire  to  serve  should  also  be  a  desire  to  find  the 
best  way  in  which  to  serve.  It  is  not  a  question  of  charity  over 
against  the  methods  which  science  teaches  us  are  wise,  of  love 

i  Matthew,  xxvi,  39.  2  Mark,  iv,  28.  3  Matthew,  xiii,  33. 


CHRISTIANITY   AND    MODERN   THOUGHT  351 

over  against  machinery.  Just  as  the  religion  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment has  taken  possession  of  law,  so  the  charity  that  Jesus  taught 
takes  and  uses  the  machinery  of  the  present  day.  Here  again  we 
have  in  the  New  Testament  a  glimpse  of  the  modern  view.  In  the 
words  "  If  any  will  not  work,  neither  let  him  eat,"  *  there  is  the 
spirit  of  modern  political  economy,  however  isolated  at  the  time.2 

1 II  Thessalonians,  iii,  10. 

2  C.  C.  Everett,  Essays  Theological  and  Literary,  "The  Historic  and  the  Ideal 
Christ." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CHRISTIANITY  AS  THE  ABSOLUTE  RELIGION:  THE  PRACTICAL  AS- 
PECT.  THE  PRECEPTS  OF  CHRISTIANITY  GENERAL  AND  INTU- 
ITIONAL.—  THE  TEACHING  OF  CHRISTIANITY  EMBODIED  IN 
THE  PERSONALITY  OF  JESUS :  THE  LIFE  OF  JESUS  AN  IDEAL 
FOR  ALL  LIVES:  HIS  SINLESSNESS:  THE  CHARACTER  OF  HIS 
LIFE   UNIVERSAL. — THE   INSTITUTION   OF  THE   CHURCH. 

I  pass  now  to  the  practical  aspect  of  the  question  whether 
Christianity  is  the  absolute  religion.  I  shall  consider  its  power 
as  a  historical  religion,  controlling  the  world  as  well  as  the  indi- 
vidual, and  I  shall  examine  this  power  first  in  the  form  of  the 
teachings  of  Christianity,  second  in  the  life  and  personality  of 
its  founder,  and  finally  in  the  institution  of  the  Church.  First, 
then,  as  regards  its  teachings,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  if  Christianity 
is  to  be  regarded  as  a  universal  religion  the  form  of  its  original 
announcement  must  be  of  a  nature  to  adapt  it  to  this  use.  We 
find  this  to  be  the  case  both  as  regards  the  teaching  of  the  New 
Testament  in  general  and  especially  as  regards  the  teaching  of 
Jesus.  The  precepts  are  general  in  their  form,  and  intuitional 
in  their  substance.  Even  the  special  character  of  the  occasions 
upon  which  the  teaching  of  Jesus,  and  to  a  large  extent  the  teach- 
ing of  the  New  Testament  generally,  is  based,  gives  rise  as  a  rule 
to  universal  principles.  The  teaching  does  not  content  itself 
with  directing  what  shall  be  done  in  any  particular  case.  It  is 
a  wonderful  characteristic,  not  only  of  the  New  Testament  but 
to  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  the  whole  Bible,  that  no  matter  how 
trivial  the  starting-point  of  the  immediate  and  special  theme  may 
seem  to  be,  we  soon  pass  out  into  the  field  of  the  universal.  We 
find  great  ideas  opening  before  us  that  are  capable  of  universal 
application. 


THE    LIFE    OF   JESUS   AN    IDEAL  353 

Furthermore,  not  only  is  the  teaching  general,  but  it  is  intui- 
tional rather  than  argumentative.  Jesus  does  sometimes  use 
argument,  but  its  form  is  simply  that  of  an  appeal  to  the  intui- 
tion. "What  man  is  there  of  you,"  he  asks,  "who,  if  his  son 
shall  ask  him  for  a  loaf,  will  give  him  a  stone  ?  ...  If  ye,  then, 
being  evil,  know  how  to  give  good  gifts  unto  your  children,  how 
much  more  shall  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven  give  good  things 
to  them  that  ask  him  ?"  *  The  form  of  reasoning  is  almost  always 
less  permanent  than  the  results  of  reasoning.  For  argument  is 
usually  only  the  means  of  justifying  that  which  is  seen  by  intui- 
tion to  be  the  truth,  and  since  it  depends  for  its  starting-point 
upon  the  peculiarities  of  the  individual  and  his  environment,  it 
must  vary  from  age  to  age.  Except  in  the  most  abstract  sciences 
a  different  route  must  be  taken  today,  in  order  to  arrive  at  cer- 
tain results,  from  the  route  travelled  in  former  years.  The  intel- 
lectual habit  changes,  and  so  any  form  of  reasoning  soon  becomes 
old-fashioned.  But  intuition  endures.  The  poetry  of  Greece  is 
fresh  today.  So  is  the  idealism  of  Plato,  although  his  machin- 
ery has  lost  much  of  its  power.  The  arguments  of  Paul  have 
bewildered  the  world  quite  as  much  as  they  have  instructed  it, 
whereas  the  intuitive  passages  in  his  letters,  such  as  the  thirteenth 
chapter  of  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  are  as  living  today 
as  when  they  were  first  written.  The  preponderance,  therefore, 
of  the  intuitional  utterance  of  truth  in  the  New  Testament  teach- 
ing goes  far  to  establish  its  universal  character. 

But  if  the  power  of  Christianity  is  seen  in  the  form  of  its  earliest 
teaching,  it  appears  still  more  in  the  embodiment  of  this  teaching 
in  the  personality  of  Jesus.  The  world  is  always  more  interested 
in  persons  than  in  systems,  and  in  other  ways  also  the  embodi- 
ment of  an  ideal  in  a  personality  carries  with  it  certain  advan- 
tages. The  various  aspects  of  an  ideal  which  are  often  so  dif- 
ficult to  describe,  and  between  which  it  is  sometimes  not  easy 
to  preserve  a  balance,  are  united  vitally  when  embodied  in  a  single 
life,  and  sympathy  with  the  personality  as  a  whole  leads  where 
reason  would  have  failed.  Thus  in  the  teaching  of  Jesus  the  in- 
junction to  meekness  and  the  denunciation  of  the  Pharisees  might 
i  Matthew,  vii,  9-11. 


354     '  THE    LIFE    OF    JESUS    AN    IDEAL 

seem  irreconcilable  apart  from  his  personality.  But  as  it  is, 
they  are  simply  two  poles  of  a  single  nature,  and  neither  stands 
alone.  Besides  this,  with  the  embodiment  of  the  teaching  in  a 
life,  there  enters  the  power  of  love,  the  sense  of  personal  relation 
and  of  loyalty. 

But  just  what  place  does  Jesus  actually  fill?  First,  then,  his 
life  furnishes  an  ideal  for  all  lives.  In  saying  this  I  do  not  mean 
to  affirm  the  sinlessness  of  Jesus.  It  does  not  concern  our  pres- 
ent purpose  either  to  affirm  or  to  deny  it.  Our  present  aim  is 
not  theoretical  but  practical.  A  rule  is  given  us  that  we  may 
measure  with  it  and  draw  our  line  by  it.  We  do  not  examine  it 
under  a  microscope  to  see  whether  its  edge  is  rough  or  not.  And 
for  a  life  we  have  no  microscope.  If  the  question  as  to  the  sin- 
lessness of  Jesus  is  raised,  we  are  forced  to  recognize  how  very 
little  we  know  about  his  life.  One  or  two  statements,  which 
perhaps  are  to  be  regarded  as  more  or  less  legendary,  about  his 
childhood,  and  then  a  few  great  utterances,  a  very  few  of  his  in- 
terviews with  the  world  about  him,  and  then  the  account  of  his 
death,— how  little  it  all  is!  The  four  Gospels  to  some  extent 
repeat  the  same  story,  and  how  brief  it  is  and  at  the  same  time 
how  diffused!  Certainly  the  story  does  not  afford  ground  to 
affirm  the  sinlessness  of  Jesus.  In  what  is  recorded  we  may 
indeed  find  no  sin,  but  we  have  to  remember  how  very  little  is 
recorded.  The  incidents  which  have  troubled  the  world  at  all  in 
regard  to  this  aspect  of  the  life  of  Jesus  are  for  the  most  part 
superficial,  and  either  have  been  misunderstood  or  else  may  be 
regarded  as  at  least  to  some  extent  legendary.  Perhaps  the  most 
troublesome  passage  is  the  account  of  the  cursing  of  the  fig  tree, 
a  story  which  may  have  arisen  from  a  parable.1  Another  pas- 
sage is  the  story  of  how  he  drove  the  traders  from  the  Temple.2 
If,  however,  the  authority  of  Meyer  is  to  be  trusted,  it  was  only 
the  sheep  and  oxen  that  were  driven  out,  while  he  spoke  to  those 
who   sold   doves.     As   regards   the   indignant   utterances   against 

i  Matthew,  xxi,  19;  Mark,  xi,  12-14,  20-24;  Luke,  xxi,  29-33. 
2  Matthew,  xxi,  12;  Mark,  xi,  15;  Luke,  xix,  45. 


THE    LIFE    OF   JESUS   AN    IDEAL  355 

the  scribes  and  Pharisees,  so  far  from  being  a  cloud  upon  the  char- 
acter of  Jesus  we  may  feel  that  they  are  characteristic  of  one  of 
the  most  glorious  aspects  of  it.  For  a  moral  character  that  is 
incapable  of  ethical  wrath  is  imperfect.  Jesus  meets  injustice 
toward  himself  with  absolute  gentleness  and  meekness  and  for- 
giveness, but  harshness  and  injustice  toward  the  humble  of  this 
world  call  out  in  him  a  holy  indignation  which  we  cannot  too 
much  admire. 

When  all  is  said,  however,  the  belief  that  anyone  may  have  in 
the  absolute  sinlessness  of  his  life  must  be  a  matter  of  faith  rather 
than  of  demonstration.  It  must  be  based  upon  general  principles 
rather  than  upon  the  specific  details  that  are  presented  to  us. 
Thus  the  belief  in  the  absolute  divinity  of  Jesus  involves  the 
belief  in  his  sinlessness,  whereas  a  belief  in  his  entire  humanity 
affords  less  ground  for  any  dogmatic  affirmation  in  regard  to  it. 
It  is  true  that  we  find  in  the  New  Testament  the  statement  that 
he  was  "  in  all  points  tempted  like  as  we  are,  yet  without  sin." * 
But  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  regard  this  and  similar  passages  as 
the  utterance  of  anything  like  dogma.  The  writer  of  the  Epistle 
to  the  Hebrews  may  have  had  in  mind  simply  the  thought  that 
Jesus  was  subject  to  the  temptations  to  which  all  men  are  sub- 
ject and  that  he  withstood  them.  On  the  other  hand  it  would 
be  equally  a  mistake  to  consider  the  reply  of  Jesus  to  the  young 
lawyer,  "  why  callest  thou  me  good  ?  none  is  good  save  one, 
even  God,"2  as  involving  dogma  in  the  opposite  direction.  Rather 
an  utterance  like  this  may  perhaps  raise  our  conception  of  the 
character  of  Jesus  to  a  greater  height  than  if  he  had  claimed  for 
himself  absolute  goodness.  No,  our  answer  to  this  question  will 
depend,  as  I  have  said,  upon  general  principles.  It  will  depend 
largely  upon  our  view  of  the  nature  of  Christ,  and  it  will  depend 
also  upon  our  theory  in  regard  to  sin.  If  we  believe  that  sin  is 
inherent  in  all  life  except  the  Infinite  Life,  then  unless  we  regard 
Jesus  as  himself  the  Infinite  Life,  we  should  find  sin  in  him.  On 
the  other  hand  if  we  regard  sin  as  the  failure  to  fulfil  the  calling 
that  is  impressed  upon  one's  nature,  then  we  should  find  in  him 

i  Hebrews,  iv,  15.  2  Mark,  x,  18. 


356  THE    LIFE    OF   JESUS   AN    IDEAL 

no  sin,  for  he  met  the  summons  which  called  him,  and  fulfilled 
the  duty  that  was  laid  upon  him.  Here,  as  elsewhere  in  regard 
to  matters  that  are  beyond  the  reach  of  positive  knowledge,  I 
will  not  venture  a  statement.  All  that  I  wish  to  say  is  that  when 
I  speak  of  the  life  of  Jesus  as  furnishing  an  ideal  to  which  all  lives 
may  seek  to  conform,  I  do  not  want  to  have  this  proposition 
encumbered  by  such  questions  as  whether  his  character  was  or  was 
not  without  any  trace  of  sin.  Questions  of  this  kind  have  been 
far  too  prominent  in  the  study  of  the  life  and  work  of  Jesus.  They 
have  arisen,  on  all  sides,  out  of  a  mistaken  emphasis.  Jesus 
comes  to  bring  the  world  salvation,  and  the  world  begins  at  once 
to  ask  what  he  is,  and  what  is  his  rank,  and  so  on.  When  we 
consider  what  it  is  that  he  came  to  do,  such  questions  are  in  com- 
parison frivolous.  Two  questions  only  in  regard  to  him  are  of 
prime  importance.  First,  of  what  kind  is  the  authority  with 
which  he  spoke  ?  what  is  behind  him  ?  of  what  is  his  life  the 
manifestation?  And  second,  what  is  the  special  help  that  he 
brings  to  us  ?  The  question  is  not,  what  honor  is  to  be  paid  to 
Jesus,  but  what  is  the  service  which  he  came  to  render.  For  the 
highest  honor,  and  the  only  honor  which  he  would  desire,  is,  so 
far  as  we  are  concerned,  obedience,  and  so  far  as  regards  him- 
self, the  power  to  serve. 

Not  that  all  these  other  questions  are  to  be  ruled  out  altogether. 
The  question,  for  instance,  as  to  the  honor  that  is  to  be  paid  to 
Jesus  is  most  interesting  when  subordinated  to  these  questions 
of  first  importance.  The  difficulty  is  that  the  questions  which 
should  have  been  kept  secondary  too  often  have  been  made  pri- 
mary, and  the  strife,  such  as  that  in  regard  to  the  duty  or  the 
humanity  of  Jesus,  has  obscured  the  great  questions  which  deal 
with  his  absolute  relations  and  with  the  practical  aspect  of  his 
life.  If  we  had  really  reached  his  own  point  of  view,  the  ques- 
tion as  to  the  honor  and  rank  that  belong  to  him  and  the  question 
as  to  the  power  of  service  that  was  in  him  would  flow  together, 
and  the  real  honor  that  belongs  to  him  would  be  found,  as  I  have 
just  suggested,  in  the  nature  of  his  service  to  man.  "Whosoever 
would  be  first  among  you,  shall  be  servant  of  all."1  That  was 
i  Mark,  x,  43,  44. 


THE    LIFE    OF   JESUS   AN    IDEAL  357 

the  rule  which  he  bade  his  disciples  apply  to  one  another,  and 
it  is  the  rule  which  he  would  apply  to  himself.  The  world  has 
been  slowly  growing  to  recognize  the  divinity  of  service.  No 
doubt  we  fail  as  yet  to  realize  its  meaning  profoundly  in  our 
hearts,  but  its  phraseology  has  become  easy  to  us,  and  we  per- 
ceive, intellectually  at  least,  the  absolute  truth  that  the  only  real 
glory  in  the  world  and  the  only  divinity  that  can  be  manifested 
in  the  world  are  the  glory  and  the  divinity  of  loving,  self-forgetful 
service. 

The  power  of  the  life  of  Jesus  as  an  ideal  rests  in  part  upon 
the  fact  that  like  his  teaching  the  character  of  his  life  was  uni- 
versal. We  often  lament  that  we  cannot  form  a  more  distinct 
picture  of  his  life  in  its  details.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
for  the  success  of  his  work  it  is  better  so.  For  the  very  fact  that 
the  details  are  so  obscure  only  forces  into  more  distinct  relief  the 
universal  elements  and  makes  them  easier  of  general  application. 
We  do  not  have  to  disentangle  the  great  utterances  and  acts  of 
Jesus  from  a  mass  of  special  occasions  and  special  aims.  They 
stand  out  already  disentangled  and  clear,  in  all  the  grandeur  of 
their  universality,  and  with  all  the  practicalness  that  arises  from 
universality,  and  thus  we  have  in  the  story  of  the  life  of  Jesus 
the  picture  of  absolute  self-sacrifice,  with  just  enough  detail  to 
make  that  sacrifice  vivid  and  impressive,  but  with  not  so  much  as 
to  give  it  a  particular  or  individual  aspect.  The  cross,  as  the 
symbol  of  the  life  and  death  of  Christ,  becomes  a  universal  symbol. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  difficulty  in  preserving  the  balance  be- 
tween the  various  aspects  of  an  ideal.  If  we  try  to  make  a  state- 
ment in  regard  to  the  Christian  life  in  which  its  qualities  shall 
be  balanced  one  over  against  another,  what  a  difficult  task  it  is! 
In  fact  we  cannot  balance  the  Christian  qualities.  We  have  to 
say  simply  that  there  must  be  enough  of  gentleness  and  enough 
of  firmness,  enough  of  love  and  enough  of  condemnation,  enough 
of  contemplation  and  enough  of  activity,  enough  of  devotion  and 
enough  of  practicalness,  and  so  on.  The  difficulty  is  one  which 
appears  in  connection  with  all  moral  precepts.  Virtue,  we  are 
told,  is  a  mean,  it  is  a  matter  of  proportion.     But  proportion  is 


358  THE    LIFE    OF   JESUS   AN    IDEAL 

something  which  cannot  be  accurately  defined  beforehand.  When 
we  fully  appreciate  this  difficulty  in  defining  qualities,  we  realize 
what  power  there  may  be  in  this  respect  in  an  embodiment  of  the 
ideal  of  the  Christian  life  in  which  the  various  qualities  blend  in  a 
perfect  unity,  an  embodiment  in  which  we  can  find  an  example 
of  that  which  we  could  not  have  reached  through  any  process  of 
a  priori  reasoning.  When  we  ask  ourselves  what  this  ideal  means 
in  general,  we  reply  that  it  means  spirituality  as  against  material- 
ism, love  as  against  selfishness.  It  means  the  embodiment  of  a 
reasonable  self-sacrifice.  It  would  be  a  happy  thing  if  the  term 
"Christianity"  could  be  used  in  relation  to  this  ideal.  A  man 
doubts  whether  he  is  a  Christian  or  not,  and  we  doubt  with  him. 
But  true  Christianity  is  simply  conformity  to  this  ideal.  How- 
ever confidently  a  man  may  apply  the  term  "Christian"  to  him- 
self in  relation  to  the  dogmatic  statements  which  have  served  so 
largely  to  give  content  to  the  term,  we  can  understand  with  what 
hesitation  he  would  use  the  term  of  his  own  life  in  relation  to  this 
sublime  ideal.  But  we  recognize  the  fitness  of  the  life  of  Jesus 
to  become  such  an  ideal.  So  far  as  we  can  know  it  and  under- 
stand it,  not  only  does  it  conform  perfectly  to  our  highest  thought 
but  it  has  been  to  a  great  extent  the  source  from  which  our  high- 
est thought  has  sprung. 

There  is  still  another  point  of  view  from  which  we  may  regard 
the  inspiration  that  comes  from  an  ideal.  A  soldier  may  fight 
well  without  a  standard,  but  he  will  fight  better  with  one.  Men 
need  some  outward  symbol  of  that  to  which  they  devote  them- 
selves. This  symbol  may  be  nothing  in  itself,  but  even  so  we  know 
what  its  power  may  be, — we  know  what  the  power  of  the  Roman 
eagles  was.  Now  in  the  standard  which  Christianity  has  adopted, 
the  standard  of  the  cross,  we  have  not  a  mere  arbitrary  symbol 
but  one  which  actually  embodies  that  for  which  the  Christian  is 
striving.  The  life  of  Jesus  is  not  only  formally  but  really  the 
standard  of  the  Christian.  This  would  be  true  even  if  we  did  not 
believe  the  story  of  his  life.  The  picture  that  is  drawn  for  us  would 
still  give  the  ideal  of  the  Christian  life,  together  with  the  power 
that  flows  from  it.     But  new  power  is  added  when  we  consider 


THE    LIFE    OF   JESUS    AN    IDEAL  359 

that  this  life  is  not  merely  a  picture  but  a  reality,  that  it  was 
actually  lived  upon  the  earth,  and  that  the  thought  of  Jesus 
represents  not  only  the  ideal  of  the  true  life  but  an  ideal  which 
has  been  at  least  practically  fulfilled.  The  attraction  of  a  per- 
sonality in  which  the  highest  thought  and  faith  are  thus  em- 
bodied will  naturally  affect  men  more  or  less  powerfully  according 
to  the  different  nature  of  different  minds,  and  perhaps  also  accord- 
ing to  the  view  that  one  holds  in  regard  to  the  nature  of  Jesus. 
If  one  believes  that  Christ  is  very  God,  the  object  of  absolute 
worship,  however  much  we  may  differ  from  his  view,  we  must 
still  recognize  the  fact  that  the  worship  which  is  thus  offered  is 
real;  it  is  a  worship  brought  to  that  which  is  really  above  the  in- 
dividual who  brings  it,  and  it  is  the  power  of  the  real  life  of  Jesus 
that  is  worshipped.  Again,  one  may  take  a  somewhat  different 
view,  and  instead  of  emphasizing  the  worshipful  aspect  of  the 
nature  of  Jesus,  may  dwell  rather  upon  the  thought  of  his  sym- 
pathetic presence  as  still  in  living  relation  with  his  Church.  He 
may  think  thus  of  the  disciple  as  still  in  personal  relation  with 
his  Master,  so  that  as  his  love  goes  out  personally  to  the  living 
personality  of  Jesus,  so  the  love  of  Jesus  flows  back  personally 
to  him,  and  the  spiritual  presence  of  Jesus  is  felt  by  the  dis- 
ciple as  a  living  reality  in  all  the  crises  of  his  life.  Here  we 
have  in  what  is  perhaps  its  most  intense  form  the  power  that 
may  come  from  the  embodiment  of  the  Christian  ideal  in  the 
personality  of  Jesus.  Or,  again,  one  may  have  simply  a  rever- 
ential memory  and  love,  as  toward  a  life  which  has  been  lived 
upon  the  earth,  but  which,  although  one  may  believe  that  it  still 
exists,  is  now  felt  to  be  less  nearly  and  personally  related  to  the 
individual.  As  one  looks  back  in  this  way,  he  realizes  freshly  the 
beauty  of  the  presence  of  Jesus  upon  the  earth,  and  the  greatness 
of  the  blessings  that  have  flowed  from  him.  Whatever,  then,  the 
view  we  take  of  the  nature  of  Jesus,  in  every  case  we  find  this 
power  in  his  personality  and  in  the  fact  that  his  life  is  the  em- 
bodiment of  the  highest  teaching. 

Here,  however,  a  question  arises.     May  there  not  be  other  lives 
as  good  as  the  life  of  Jesus  ?  and  if  there  is  this  possibility,  why 


360  THE    LIFE    OF   JESUS   AN    IDEAL 

exalt  his  life  as  thus  absolutely  pre-eminent  ?  This  question  is  of 
a  sort  to  which  I  have  been  obliged  to  refer  already  a  number 
of  times,  questions  which  propose  theoretical  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  our  most  satisfactory  results.  We  have  to  consider  them  in 
order  to  see  what  remains  if  we  grant  them  their  fullest  possible 
sweep.  In  this  case  the  position  that  we  have  taken  does  not 
require  us  to  determine  by  any  a  priori  reasoning  whether  there  are 
now  or  can  be  in  the  future  lives  as  good  as  the  life  of  Jesus.  The 
historical  view  is  all  that  here  concerns  us.  From  the  historical 
standpoint  we  can  say  with  confidence  that  no  life  and  personality 
can  ever  take  the  place  of  the  personality  and  life  of  Jesus.  For 
if  we  have  in  Christianity  the  highest  possible  religious  teaching, 
then  the  beginning  of  Christianity  will  always  have  a  central  place 
in  the  life  of  the  world,  and  the  founder  of  Christianity  will  fill  a 
place  in  the  hearts  and  lives  of  men  such  as  can  never  be  filled  by 
any  one  else.  We  tend  always  to  associate  the  teaching  of  any  in- 
dividual with  his  personality  whenever  any  ground  is  offered  for 
such  association.  How  easily  the  people  of  a  parish  think  of  their 
minister  as  good  above  all  others  in  the  community!  In  reality 
there  may  be  many  who  are  as  good  as  he,  or  better;  but  the  people 
are  so  accustomed  to  hear  him  utter  lofty  thoughts,  and  his  life 
so  far  as  they  can  know  it  appears  to  be  so  good,  that  the  fact  that 
he  is  the  one  to  utter  great  truths  leads  them  to  regard  his  life  as 
in  some  special  manner  representative  of  them.  Emerson  may 
not  have  been  any  more  truly  independent  and  self-reliant  than 
many  of  his  neighbors;  but  because  individuality  was  the  central 
principle  of  Emerson's  thought,  and  his  presentation  of  it  made 
an  epoch  in  many  lives,  and  because  his  life  sufficiently  conformed 
to  what  he  taught,  the  very  thought  of  him  has  come  to  be  asso- 
ciated with  the  ideal  that  he  had  in  mind.  History  is  full  of  similar 
instances.  Now  if  religion  and  morality  are  the  most  important, 
the  most  essential  elements  of  life,  then  he  who  has  done  most  to 
establish  the  highest  form  of  both  has  a  place  which  must  always 
remain  the  highest,  and  in  Jesus  we  have  the  most  authoritative 
and  most  central  utterance  of  the  highest  truth,  associated  with  a 
life  of  complete  self-sacrifice  and  devotion  embodying  the  spirit 


THE   INSTITUTION    OF   THE    CHURCH  361 

of  his  teaching.  Of  course  there  is  a  certain  sense  in  which  every 
life  is  important,  and  the  function  of  one  as  essential  as  the  func- 
tion of  another;  in  a  certain  sense  the  private  soldier  is  as  neces- 
sary as  the  general,  and  the  hod-carrier  as  necessary  as  the  archi- 
tect. Yet  in  all  relations  the  highest  position  is  given  to  the  most 
central  and  most  commanding  figure,  and  whatever  theories  we 
may  entertain  in  regard  to  the  comparative  excellence  of  other 
lives,  the  position  of  Jesus  historically  will  remain  central  and 
supreme,  for  the  reason  that  his  leadership  rests  simply  on  the 
fact  that  he  actually  leads.  Here,  as  at  other  points  in  the  ex- 
amination that  we  have  been  making,  I  have  purposely  brought 
down  our  assumptions  to  a  minimum  in  order  that  we  may  see 
what  remains  from  the  more  limited  point  of  view.  In  proportion 
as  any  may  find  it  possible  to  raise  their  assumptions  above  this 
minimum,  all  that  I  have  said  will  only  become  more  emphatic. 
It  remains  emphatic,  even  with  the  lowest  assumptions  that  are 
justified  by  historical  truth. 

We  have  seen  that  the  element  of  a  life  which  is  the  incarna- 
tion of  the  spirit  of  the  religion,  and  which  has  been  the  medium 
through  which  has  come  the  central  utterance  of  its  teachings,  is 
a  necessity  to  the  absolute  religion.  This  element  Christianity 
possesses  in  common  with  Buddhism.  But  there  is  this  difference, 
that  whereas  the  life  of  Jesus  is  the  embodiment  of  his  teaching, 
the  life  of  Buddha,  in  so  far  as  it  represents  the  element  of  ser- 
vice without  hope  of  gain,  goes  far  beyond  that  which  is  required 
by  his  teachings.  The  life  of  Buddha,  however,  like  his  teach- 
ings, is  deficient  both  as  regards  the  purely  religious  element 
and  also  in  the  direction  of  a  healthy  relation  with  the  world. 
For  Buddha  taught  the  reality  of  no  divine  being  higher  than 
man,  and  he  summoned  his  followers  to  a  life  of  seclusion  sup- 
ported by  the  alms  of  others. 

When  we  turn  to  the  third  factor  in  the  power  of  Christianity, 
the  institution  of  the  Church,  we  have  to  recognize  the  embodi- 
ment of  the  early  teaching  in  the  life  of  Jesus  as  the  vital  element 
in  the  history  of  the  Church  from  the  beginning.  We  are  apt  to 
dwell  chiefly  upon  the  more  formal,  external  manifestations  of  the 


362  THE    INSTITUTION    OF   THE    CHURCH 

life  of  the  Church,  in  the  proceedings  of  councils  and  in  the  doings 
of  bishops  and  popes  and  kings.  All  these  represent  the  points 
at  which  the  Church  has  come  in  contact  with  the  world  and  has 
been  invaded  by  it,  and  naturally  enough  this  outward  history  has 
been  full  of  worldliness  and  pride  and  hypocrisy  and  persecution. 
But  we  must  not  forget  that  behind  and  beneath  these  external 
manifestations,  these  official  lives  have  been  the  lives  of  the 
countless  men  and  women  who  after  all  have  really  constituted  the 
Church  and  who  to  greater  or  less  extent  have  all  been  inspired 
by  the  teachings  and  the  life  of  Jesus.  When  we  seek  to  account 
for  the  influence  which  the  Church  has  had  in  moulding  institu- 
tions and  shaping  civilizations,  we  are  not  to  look  at  the  external 
forms;  we  are  to  see  the  power  of  the  Christian  life  and  teach- 
ing working  silently  through  all  like  the  leaven  hid  in  the 
three  measures  of  meal.  It  shows  the  wonderful  vitality  and 
recuperative  power  of  Christianity  that  these  inner,  spiritual 
forces  should  have  held  their  own  to  such  a  large  extent  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  corruption  that  surrounded  them,  and  should 
at  last  have  cast  it  off  and  emerged  in  something  of  their  orig- 
inal purity. 

The  fact  that  the  Church  is  an  institution  is  no  doubt  the  source 
of  much  of  the  corruption  that  has  accompanied  it.  For  if  it 
were  not  an  institution  worldliness  would  have  found  little  room; 
the  worldliness  has  entered  through  the  struggles  of  those  who 
had  charge  of  the  institution  to  give  it  supremacy  from  the 
worldly  point  of  view.  Yet  if  the  Church  had  possessed  no 
organization,  we  may  question  whether  the  teachings  of  Jesus 
would  have  accomplished  anything  like  the  results  that  have  been 
actually  achieved.  If  the  institutional  aspect  of  the  Church  has 
opened  the  way  for  many  of  the  imperfections  which  have  been 
the  reproach  of  Christianity,  it  has  been  at  the  same  time  a  great 
power  for  the  spread  of  Christian  faith.  In  all  the  great  religions 
of  the  world  we  have  to  recognize  the  power  that  there  is  in  some 
sort  of  organization.  There  is  always  the  danger  that  the  organ- 
ization may  overpower  the  inner  spirit,  but  this  is  a  danger  which 
belongs  to  life.     You  may  remember  the  choice  which,  according 


THE    INSTITUTION    OF   THE    CHURCH  363 

to  the  Mazdean  story,  was  offered  to  the  Fravashis.  They  were 
asked  whether  they  would  live  in  peace  and  quiet  as  spirits,  or 
would  enter  bodies  and  share  in  the  conflict  with  the  world  and 
suffer  from  all  the  ills  that  might  result,  in  the  hope  of  contributing 
toward  the  triumph  of  the  powers  of  good;  and  they  decided  to 
enter  bodies,  and  run  the  risk  of  all  the  imperfection  and  suffering 
incidental  to  them,  that  so  they  might  have  part  in  the  great 
struggle  of  life.  We  may  imagine  that  a  choice  like  this  is  offered 
to  the  spirit  that  is  to  enter  into  one  or  another  of  the  religions  of 
the  world, — that  Christianity,  for  instance,  was  asked,  "Will 
you  remain  pure  but  to  a  large  extent  powerless,  or  will  you  take 
to  yourself  a  body,  with  all  the  dangers  and  imperfections  that 
may  attend  it,  that  thereby  you  may  become  a  more  efficient  in- 
strument in  overcoming  the  powers  of  ignorance  and  sin?"  We 
should  feel  sure  that  the  decision  would  have  been  the  same  as 
that  of  the  Fravashis.  The  teachings  of  Socrates  have  been  an 
inspiration  to  many  minds,  but  in  the  absence  of  any  organiza- 
tion to  cherish  them  and  spread  them,  they  have  had  comparatively 
little  general  influence  upon  the  history  of  the  world.  It  is  true 
that  various  philosophers  have  had  their  schools,  but  their  pur- 
pose has  been  mainly  to  furnish  opportunity  for  intellectual  dis- 
cipline. The  great  religions  have  profited  by  the  power  that 
organization  brings,  and  in  the  case  of  Christianity  the  power  of 
organization  is  added  to  the  power  of  those  other  elements  that 
are  essential  to  the  absolute  religion. 

But  if  there  is  to  be  an  organization,  it  must  be  truly  an  organ- 
ization; it  must  be  an  organism,  it  must  have  organs;  there 
must  be  some  form.  The  very  simple  rites  which  Christianity 
adopted  have  no  doubt  been  the  source  of  much  of  that  external 
element  which  follows  upon  organization.  As  we  look  back,  it 
seems  as  though  the  early  Church,  whose  outward  form  was  at 
first  so  simple,  had  by  a  sort  of  instinct  gathered  itself  into  a 
firmer  and  more  complete  organization,  and  taken  on  a  more 
earthly  form,  that  thus  it  might  have  strength  to  press  through  the 
difficulties  with  which  it  had  to  contend.  I  shall  find  occasion 
later  to  speak  of  the  rites  of  the  Church  in  some  detail.     I  have 


364  THE    INSTITUTION    OF   THE    CHURCH 

referred  to  them  here  only  to  emphasize  the  gain  that  has  come  to 
Christianity  through  the  possession  of  these  forms. 

The  question  may  arise  at  this  point  whether  there  is  not  a 
difference  between  an  absolute  religion  and  the  absolute  religion. 
Is  it  not  possible  that  another  religion  may  be  developed  indepen- 
dently which  shall  rival  Christianity  in  the  world,  if  it  does  not 
supplant  it  ?  But  where  is  such  a  religion  to  come  from  ?  We 
cannot  look  to  the  barbarian  world  for  its  discovery  any  more 
than  we  should  expect  from  the  barbarian  world  the  discovery  of 
the  law  of  gravitation;  and  when  we  turn  to  the  world  of  civili- 
zation there  is  no  community  within  it  which  has  not  already 
some  knowledge  of  Christianity,  so  that  it  becomes  increasingly 
difficult  to  determine  how  far  this  or  that  development  in  religion 
may  be  the  result  of  the  influence  of  Christianity.  Thus  we 
find  Hindu  teachers  who  do  not  call  themselves  Christians  but 
yet  teach  a  doctrine  which  is  an  approach  to  Christianity. 
There  is  today  a  convergence  of  the  world  in  regard  to  re- 
ligion, a  nearer  approach  to  a  common  sympathy.  No  doubt 
other  forms  of  religion  may  retain  their  names  at  the  same  time 
that  they  appropriate  much  of  the  spirit  of  Christianity.  But 
the  position  of  Christianity  as  central  cannot  be  relinquished. 
Its  name  may  not  be  assumed,  but  its  power  must  be  recog- 
nized everywhere. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  DIVINE  APPOINTMENT  OF  JESUS. — HIS  DIVINITY. — MIRACLES: 
THEIR  A  PRIORI  POSSIBILITY  OR  IMPOSSIBILITY. — THE  VALUE 
OF  MIRACLES:  THE  VALUE  ATTRIBUTED  TO  THEM  IN  THE 
NEW  TESTAMENT;  THEIR  VALUE  IN  THEMSELVES. — THE 
QUESTION  AS  TO  THE  ACTUAL  OCCURRENCE  OF  THE  NEW 
TESTAMENT   MIRACLES. 

There  are  certain  special  questions  in  regard  to  Jesus  Christ 
and  Christianity  which  have  entered  largely  into  theological  dis- 
cussion. The  first  of  these  concerns  the  divine  appointment  of 
Jesus.  Was  he  divinely  appointed  to  his  work?  Hase,  in  the 
beginning  of  his  Geschichte  Jesu  recognizes  three  elements  as 
entering  into  every  individual  life, — the  divine  purpose  in  the  life, 
the  free  action  of  the  individual  by  which  he  conforms  more  or 
less  perfectly  to  this  purpose,  and  the  environment  which  is 
acted  upon  by  the  individual  and  in  turn  reacts  upon  his  activity. 
These  are  elements  which  anyone  who  believes  in  a  divine  provi- 
dence or  a  teleological  principle  in  the  world,  must  recognize  as 
entering  into  every  life.  Every  life  has  its  purpose,  and,  if  we 
accept  any  thought  of  a  guiding  spiritual  principle,  its  divine  pur- 
pose. But  how  are  we  to  know  what  this  purpose  is  ?  Theo- 
logians have  sometimes  made  the  mistake  of  attempting  as  it 
were  to  enter  into  the  divine  councils,  determining  what  must  have 
been  decided  in  them,  and  then  discovering  in  the  world  the 
actualization  of  this  decision.  It  is  impossible  to  do  this.  We 
can  know  what  the  divine  purpose  is  only  as  we  find  it  mani- 
fested in  the  world,  or,  in  other  words,  as  we  bring  together  all 
the  indications  that  we  perceive  of  such  manifestation  both  in  the 
world  without  and  in  the  world  within, — the  high  ideas  and  the 
lofty   aspirations    which   we  consider   most   divine,    whether  in 


366  THE    DIVINE   APPOINTMENT   OF   JESUS 

the  inner  or  in  the  outer  life.  That  is,  we  learn  the  divine 
purpose  from  the  divine  accomplishment,  recognizing  that  this 
result  must  be  modified  somewhat  by  our  own  self-consciousness. 
In  considering  the  divine  accomplishments,  however,  we  have 
to  distinguish  between  those  elements  which  belong  to  the  ideal 
world,  and  those  which  are  foreign  to  it  and  opposed  to  it.  We 
may  consider  all  lives  as  in  a  certain  sense  instruments  of  the 
divine  purpose,  and  yet  recognize  that  they  accomplish  the  divine 
work  more  or  less  completely  according  as  they  conform  more 
or  less  closely  to  the  ideal  standard. 

Now  if  we  recognize  the  presence  of  a  divine  purpose  in  any 
single  aspect  of  the  life  of  the  world  we  must  recognize  it  here 
in  this  field  of  religion  and  morality  which  we  are  now  considering. 
Here  in  the  teaching  and  the  life  of  Jesus  we  reach  a  point  at 
which  the  highest  truth  in  regard  to  God  and  man  not  only  finds 
utterance,  but  is  embodied  in  such  a  form  as  to  possess  the  greatest 
possible  working  power.  If  there  is  a  guiding  providence  in 
the  world  at  all,  it  must  certainly  be  recognized  in  this  great  and 
central  moment  in  the  world's  history.  Or  if  we  prefer  to  speak 
less  theologically,  then  we  must  recognize  in  the  life  and  teaching 
of  Jesus  the  point  of  completion  toward  which  that  teleological 
principle  which  has  been  working  all  through  the  history  of  the 
world  has  tended  from  the  first.  Almost  anything  else  we  might 
consider  accidental,  but  when  in  the  working  of  the  teleological 
principle  a  great  result  like  this  emerges,  we  cannot  find  in  it 
an  accident.  In  the  work  of  the  sculptor  the  grain  or  the  color 
of  the  marble  may  be  accidental,  it  may  be  an  accident  that  he 
is  working  with  this  or  that  special  tool;  but  it  is  not  accident 
when  the  form  which  the  sculptor  is  trying  to  portray  begins  to 
show  itself. 

It  may  be  asked  why  we  should  insist  upon  this  here  in  the 
field  of  religion  more  than  anywhere  else.  All  the  other  highest 
results  of  thought  and  life  are  also  embodied  in  some  move- 
ment, like  the  art  of  Greece  or  the  law  of  Rome.  Why  emphasize 
this  movement  among  all  the  rest?  WThy  not  recognize  the 
presence  of  the  divine  purpose  equally  in  other  great  discoverers  ? 


THE    DIVINE   APPOINTMENT    OF   JESUS  367 

in  the  masters  of  science  and  literature?  in  Dante?  in  Shake- 
speare ?  in  Euclid  ?  But  geometry  can  be  studied  equally  well 
with  or  without  a  sense  of  the  divine  appointment  of  Euclid.  It 
is  a  different  matter  when  the  teacher  in  question  is  a  teacher 
of  religion,  the  relation  of  man  to  God  and  of  God  to  man.  It  is 
of  greater  interest  to  know  whether  the  message  of  such  a  teacher 
comes  from  God  or  not.  Jesus  teaches  the  presence  of  a  loving 
Father.  It  is  essential  to  our  thought  of  such  a  Father  that 
he  should  in  some  way  manifest  himself  to  his  children;  the 
loving  God  must  be  the  self-manifesting  God.  If  we  imagine 
a  child  who  has  always  supposed  himself  to  be  an  orphan  and 
to  whom  there  comes  a  messenger  telling  him  that  he  is  not  an 
orphan,  that  he  has  a  father  whose  thought  and  care  for  him  are 
constant,  one  of  the  first  questions  that  we  should  expect  from 
the  child  would  be,  "Did  he  send  you?"  If  the  child  found 
that  the  father  was  taking  no  measures  to  bring  the  child  into 
actual  relations  with  himself,  the  child  would  be  apt  to  think 
that  the  messenger  either  was  without  authority  or  had  greatly 
exaggerated  the  love  of  which  he  spoke.  The  teaching  of  Jesus, 
therefore,  requires  the  person  of  Jesus.  His  own  relation  to 
God  is  an  essential  part  of  his  teaching,  and  if  his  life  has  no 
such  relation  to  the  infinite  life,  his  teaching  loses  the  very  heart 
of  its  significance.  The  various  religions  of  the  world  represent 
not  only  the  efforts  of  men  to  reach  God  but  also  the  self-mani- 
festation of  God  to  men.  All  religions  show  these  two  aspects 
of  the  movement  of  the  spiritual  life.  In  all  God  reveals  him- 
self to  man  according  as  man  is  able  to  receive  the  revelation, 
and  the  difference  in  this  respect  between  other  religions  and 
Christianity  is  a  difference  in  degree.  In  Christianity  the  two 
movements,  the  movement  from  man  to  God  and  the  movement 
from  God  to  man,  appear  in  a  completeness  that  is  found  nowhere 
else.  The  aspiration  and  striving  of  the  individual  soul  toward 
God  open  the  life  of  man  to  receive  the  fullest  possible  manifes- 
tation of  the  divine  presence. 

How  are  we  to  measure  the  position  of  Jesus  in  the  world  ? 
We  have  to  recognize  the  fact  that  he  occupies  the  highest  place 


368  THE    DIVINITY    OF   JESUS 

in  history.  In  saying  this  we  assume  that  the  religious  and 
moral  needs  of  the  soul  are  the  highest  needs  in  the  world,  and 
that  the  work  of  satisfying  these  needs  is  the  highest  that  can  be 
placed  in  the  hands  of  anyone.  We  recognize  the  importance 
of  any  and  all  work  for  the  well-being  of  man,  but  the  chief 
value  of  all  other  work  is  after  all  as  a  means  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  this  highest  task.  For  all  other  work  has  to  do  with 
the  maintenance  of  life,  with  comfort,  with  ease  of  communica- 
tion, and  so  on,  but  man  lives  in  order  that  he  may  fulfil  his  true 
end,  and  that  end  is  spiritual.  The  world  of  mechanical  inven- 
tions is  simply  the  stage  upon  which  the  highest  life  may  be  lived, 
and  we  can  feel  only  a  certain  contempt  for  the  machinery  of 
life  if  it  is  unaccompanied  by  life  itself;  we  can  understand  Emer- 
son's criticism  upon  the  modern  world  of  conveniences  when  he 
says  that 

"Things  are  in  the  saddle 
And  ride  mankind." 

If  the  life  of  Jesus,  therefore,  marks  the  beginning  for  the  world 
of  the  highest  spiritual  consciousness,  if  through  his  teaching  and 
the  embodiment  of  that  teaching  in  his  life  men  are  enabled  to 
enter  into  the  highest  relation  with  God,  then  we  must  recog- 
nize his  work  and  his  position  in  the  world  as  the  highest.  If 
his  name  has  become  the  symbol  of  the  greatest  realities  of  life, 
then  from  this  point  of  view  at  least  we  need  not  hesitate  to  speak 
of  his  name  as  "above  every  name."2 

Is  Jesus  to  be  considered  divine?  In  answering  this  question 
we  are  embarrassed  by  the  extremely  different  senses  in  which 
the  word  may  be  used.  We  hesitate  to  use  it  at  all  for  fear  that 
we  may  be  misunderstood  in  that  in  which  we  would  have  our 
meaning  most  clear.  If  we  say  that  Jesus  is  divine,  we  may  be 
understood  to  mean  that  he  was  the  absolute  God  come  down 
to  earth.  Yet  to  say  that  he  is  not  divine  would  invite  a  mis- 
understanding more  disastrous  than  the  first.  For  the  question 
in  the  first  case  concerns   personal  relations,  and  however  great 

1  Ode,  inscribed  to  W.  H.  Charming.  2  Philippians,  ii,  9. 


THE    DIVINITY    OF   JESUS  369 

the  importance  that  we  may  attach  to  the  right  adjustment  of  the 
relations  between  divine  and  human  personalities,  certainly  the 
divine  substance,  that  which  is  in  itself  divine,  is  more  important 
still.  The  person  who  says  that  he  does  not  believe  in  God  but 
yet  devotes  his  life  to  righteousness,  is  surely  nearer  to  God  than 
one  who  says,  "Yes,  I  believe  in  God,"  but  shows  no  concern 
for  that  which  is  in  itself  divine.  Therefore  the  denial  of  the 
divineness  of  Jesus  involves  a  greater  peril  than  any  misappre- 
hension that  may  arise  from  the  affirmation  of  it.  To  define  our 
use  of  the  term,  however,  more  closely,  we  may  speak  of  Jesus 
as  divine  if  we  mean  by  divinity  nothing  that  is  foreign  to  human- 
ity. We  have  recognized  a  divine  principle  as  working  in  the 
world  from  the  beginning.  We  have  spoken  of  it  as  derived 
from  the  life  of  God.  Our  method  of  speech  is  clumsy,  but  the 
inadequacy  of  our  terms  must  not  lead  us  to  lose  sight  of  the 
fact.  This  divine  principle  in  the  world  manifests  itself  more 
and  more  until  at  last  it  comes  to  the  full  consciousness  of  itself 
in  the  life  and  teaching  of  Jesus.  It  is  in  this  derivative  sense 
that  Jesus  may  be  regarded  as  divine.  We  may  use  the  term 
"divine"  freely  in  regard  to  him  so  far  as  we  understand  it  as 
implying  the  relation  of  sonship.  His  divinity  is  not  that  of  one 
who  has  come  down  from  above;  it  is  that  of  the  life  in  which 
the  divine  element  that  has  been  working  in  the  world  comes  at 
last  to  its  consummation  and  reaches  the  point  at  which  the  doors 
open  between  the  lower  and  the  higher,  so  that  the  divine  life 
flows  freely  downward  and  the  human  life  upward,  and  the 
divine  and  the  human  mingle.  Jesus  identifies  himself  with  his 
followers;  "my  Father  and  your  Father,"  the  writer  of  the 
Gospel  according  to  John  represents  him  as  saying,  "and  my 
God  and  your  God,"  *  and  again,  "  that  they  also  may  be  in  us, 
even  as  thou,  Father,  art  in  me,  and  I  in  thee."2  In  this  sense 
we  may  say  that  Jesus  is  divine  through  the  very  perfection  of 
his  humanity,  for  the  ideal  of  human  nature  is  the  fulfilment 
in  it  of  the  divine  element. 

The  "double  nature"  of  Christ  is  often  spoken  of.     One  of 

1  John,  xx,  17.  2  John,  xvii,  21. 


370  THE    DIVINITY    OF   JESUS 

the  great  difficulties  with  theologians  in  discussing  the  doctrine 
of  the  incarnation  has  been  to  discover  the  point  of  union  between 
the  divine  and  the  human.  The  incarnation  in  Christ  was  de- 
signed to  bring  them  together.  But  the  division  remained  as 
real,  the  two  elements  were  still  as  distinct  and  separate,  in  the 
God-man,  as  they  had  been  in  the  world  before;  the  solvent  had 
not  been  found.  The  view  that  we  have  taken,  however,  fur- 
nishes the  solvent.  There  is  a  divine  element  in  humanity  which 
only  needs  fulness  of  development  and  freedom  of  manifestation 
to  become  wholly  conscious  of  itself.  The  human  and  the  divine 
can  blend  because  they  are  not  foreign  to  each  other.  From 
this  point  of  view  that  which  distinguishes  Jesus  from  others  is 
the  singleness  of  his  nature  and  not  its  twofold  character.  Rather 
it  is  we  who  have  the  double  nature.  If  we  recognize  the  indi- 
vidual and  the  universal  as  the  two  elements  that  enter  into  life, 
it  is  in  ourselves  that  they  are  found  in  collision,  standing  each 
over  against  the  other;  it  is  in  our  lives  that  the  contest  is  carried 
on  which  Paul  pictures  so  vividly,  between  the  law  of  God  after 
the  inward  man  and  the  law  that  is  in  the  members.1  In  so  far 
as  Jesus  transcends  ordinary  humanity  it  is  by  the  singleness  of 
his  nature,  by  the  fact  that  in  him  these  two  elements,  hitherto 
kept  apart  only  by  the  imperfection  of  the  development  of  human 
life,  have  at  last  come  together.  Enough  trace  of  them  remains 
in  him  for  us  to  recognize  their  presence,  and  to  see  that  the 
reconciliation  between  them  is  not  mechanical  but  spiritual  and 
voluntary;  enough  of  the  lower  element  is  left  to  surrender  itself 
freely  to  the  higher.  "If  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  away 
from  me:  nevertheless,  not  as  I  will,  but  as  thou  wilt."2  Here  is 
the  perfect  blending,  the  full  unity,  and  yet  the  result  is  not  me- 
chanical but  free  and  living.  When  we  say  that  Jesus  is  divine, 
if  we  open  the  question  merely  to  fix  the  place  of  an  individual 
life  in  history  and  to  decide  what  terms  we  may  apply  to  it,  our 
discussion  will  be  of  comparatively  slight  importance.  But  if 
we  mean  that  as  we  contemplate  the  life  and  character  of  Jesus 
we  are  in  a  certain  sense  brought  into  the  divine  presence,  if  we 

i  Romans,  vii,  15-25.  2  Matthew,  xxvi,  39. 


miracles:   their  possibility  371 

mean  that  the  love  and  spiritual  life  and  power  which  Jesus 
reveals  are  the  truest  manifestation  of  God  that  has  been  given 
to  men,  then  the  discussion  becomes  one  of  the  most  profound 
and  important  in  which  we  can  engage. 

The  question  whether  Jesus  was  a  worker  of  miracles  is  one 
which  to  many  minds  has  assumed  much  importance.  It  is  a 
difficult  question.  As  I  have  said  before,  Ave  find  it  compara- 
tively easy  to  discuss  abstract  relations,  but  as  we  approach  con- 
creteness  difficulties  increase  at  every  step.  This  question  in 
regard  to  miracles  may  be  divided  into  three  questions:  first,  are 
miracles  a  priori  possible  ?  second,  if  we  grant  that  they  are 
possible,  what  is  their  value?  and  third,  are  the  miracles  re- 
counted in  the  New  Testament  writings  to  be  regarded  as  facts  ? 

The  question  as  to  the  a  priori  possibility  of  miracles  is  per- 
haps more  strictly  a  question  as  to  their  a  priori  impossibility. 
That  is  to  say,  is  there  any  a  priori  ground  for  assuming  in  ad- 
vance that  a  miracle  is  impossible  ?  In  answering  this  question, 
the  position  of  Hume  is  the  most  important  of  any  that  we  have 
to  consider,  for  his  statement  in  regard  to  miracles  is  the  classical 
one.1  I  presume  that  his  position  in  general  is  already  familiar 
to  you.  It  is  not  that  the  miraculous  is  impossible,  but  that  no 
evidence  could  force  us  to  believe  in  the  miraculous.  For  our 
belief  depends  upon  our  experience,  and  whereas  we  have  ex- 
perience that  men  may  be  deceived,  the  miracle  is  by  its  very 
nature  contrary  to  our  experience.  Therefore  when  we  are  told 
of  some  miracle,  we  find  it  easier  to  believe  that  the  narrator  of 
the  story  deceives  or  has  been  deceived  than  that  the  story  is 
true.  Hume  recognizes  only  one  condition  under  which  this 
would  not  hold, — in  cases  where  the  assumption  that  the  narrator 
could  either  deceive  or  be  deceived  would  be  as  contrary  to  our 
experience  as  the  assumption  that  the  story  is  true.  Here  we 
should  have  a  balance  of  improbabilities,  with  the  miracle  still 
not  proved.  Or,  to  state  the  same  thing  more  concretely,  let  us 
suppose  that  certain  persons  in  whom  we  have  the  most  absolute 
confidence  tell  us  that  they  have  seen  with  their  own  eyes  and 

i  Works,  Vol.  IV,  p.  181. 


372  miracles:   their  possibility 

felt  with  their  own  hands  these  things  that  are  considered  miracu- 
lous, but  suppose  the  things  themselves  contrary  to  our  own 
experience.  In  a  case  like  this  we  could  not  believe  that  men 
such  as  we  know  these  men  to  be  could  either  deceive  or  be  de- 
ceived, and  yet  our  experience  forbids  us  to  believe  that  such 
things  could  have  happened.  Consequently,  we  remain  undecided. 
Mozley  has  replied  to  Hume's  position  by  saying  that  although 
it  is  right  in  principle,  it  is  not  right  in  application.1  He  agrees 
with  Hume  that  it  is  impossible  by  any  logical  procedure  to  justify 
the  results  of  induction.  We  are  here  using  the  term  "  induction  " 
in  its  ordinary  sense,  as  describing  the  process  by  which  we  arrive 
at  a  result  which  is  broader  than  the  data  that  we  have  examined. 
Thus  we  have  studied  the  movements  of  only  a  very  few  worlds, 
and  yet  we  have  assumed  that  all  worlds  are  subject  to  the  law 
of  gravitation.  But  if  we  knew  all  the  effects  that  have  taken 
place  in  the  history  of  the  universe  up  to  the  present  moment, 
these  would  furnish  no  reason  that  we  could  justify  logically  why 
we  should  expect  similar  effects  to  occur  under  similar  conditions 
in  the  next  moment.  Hume  recognized  this  difficulty,  and  in- 
sisted that  belief  is  merely  the  result  of  a  habit  of  the  mind  by 
which  we  are  led  to  expect  that  events  which  ordinarily  in  our 
experience  have  been  connected  will  be  connected  always;  so 
that  when  one  of  the  elements  in  such  a  relation  occurs,  the  other 
element  or  elements  associated  with  it  are  called  up  in  our  minds 
so  vividly  that  we  naturally  look  for  their  occurrence  also. 

So  far  as  any  strictly  logical  relation  is  concerned,  both  Hume 
and  Mozley  are  right.  But  when  Mozley  concludes  that  no 
argument  from  experience  can  render  any  event  a  priori  im- 
possible, he  overlooks  the  fact  that  we  do  place  confidence  in  in- 
duction, and  cannot  help  doing  so.  The  question  as  to  the  logical 
justification  of  our  confidence  is  one  thing;  the  fact  of  this  con- 
fidence is  quite  another  thing.  The  lack  of  logical  justification 
for  our  faith  in  induction  is  a  reason,  not  for  abandoning  it,  but 
rather  for  asking  what    the    foundation  is  upon  which   it  rests. 

i  J.  B.  Mozley,  Eight  Lectures  on  Miracles,  pp.  33-61.     C.  C.  Everett,  Psy- 
chological Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  157. 


miracles:   their  possibility  373 

When,  therefore,  Mozley  assumes  as  a  result  of  his  argument  that 
faith  in  induction  is  not  to  be  regarded,  he  is  going  beyond  what 
is  justified  by  his  own  premises.  In  fact,  his  argument  works 
against  himself,  for  if  it  takes  away  any  reason  for  not  believing 
in  the  miraculous  it  takes  away  equally  any  reason  why  one 
should  believe  in  it.  For  whatever  belief  we  may  have  in  miracles 
is  based  upon  the  fact  that  according  to  our  experience  the  testi- 
mony of  men  is  to  be  accepted  under  certain  circumstances.  If 
we  deny  all  validity  to  experience  we  cut  away  the  foundation 
not  only  from  the  position  of  our  opponents  but  also  from  our  own 
position,  and  the  whole  matter  is  thus  left  hanging  in  the  air, 
and  belief  or  disbelief  becomes  a  matter  simply  of  caprice. 

The  only  reply  to  Hume  is  the  recognition  that  there  is  a  degree 
of  testimony  which  will  compel  us  to  believe  almost  anything. 
Science  itself  justifies  this  assumption.  The  fundamental  datum 
of  science  is  that  there  is  a  tendency  in  nature  always  to  produce 
like  results  under  like  circumstances.  This  may  remain  true. 
But  another  more  superficial,  more  general  assumption  of  science 
is  that  the  world  has  on  the  whole  gone  on  in  the  past  as  it  is  going 
on  today.  We  find,  however,  certain  points  in  the  history  of  the 
world  at  which  all  previous  experience  is  set  at  naught.  Imagine 
a  spectator  watching  the  course  of  things  upon  the  earth  from  the 
first  and  reasoning  upon  them  as  we  reason  upon  them  today. 
From  time  to  time  he  would  find  results  that  were  absolutely 
opposed  to  any  that  he  had  met  before.  These  fresh  starting 
points,  these  "  nodes,"  are  scattered  along  all  through  the  history 
of  the  world.  The  first  is  formed  by  the  beginning  of  life  upon 
the  earth;  the  second  that  is  of  enough  importance  for  us  to  dis- 
tinguish today  marks  a  still  greater  change,  the  introduction  of 
sensation;  the  third  marks  the  coming  of  distinct  consciousness. 
We  might  go  on  in  this  way  from  consciousness  to  self-conscious- 
ness, from  self-consciousness  to  abstract  thought.  For  con- 
venience, however,  we  may  mark  three  stages  as  more  important 
than  any  others:  the  first,  that  of  merely  physical  relation;  the 
second,  that  of  vital,  organic  relation;  the  third,  the  stage  in  which 
the  great  element    of  subjectivity  appears,  the  absolute  opposite 


374  miracles:   their  possibility 

of  anything  that  had  been  present  in  the  world  before.  These 
results  we  accept  at  the  hands  of  science,  although  each  in  turn 
contradicts  all  previous  experience.  Furthermore,  we  accept 
them  from  science  as  from  a  wholly  irresponsible  authority. 
That  is  to  say,  it  is  impossible  for  science  to  verify  them.  Science 
tells  us  that  at  one  time  the  world  was  simply  a  molten,  fiery  mass, 
and  that  out  of  this  mass  appeared  organic  life.  Indeed,  that 
extreme  form  of  science  which  refuses  to  recognize  anything 
higher  than  physical  relations  insists  that  by  its  very  nature  matter 
itself  at  a  certain  point  or  under  certain  circumstances  tends  to 
assume  the  form  of  organic  life.  All  this  is  entirely  unverified. 
With  all  its  efforts  science  has  been  unable  to  demonstrate  the  fact 
that  the  development  of  organic  life  out  of  inorganic  life  is  pos- 
sible. The  only  experiments  that  have  been  tried  with  any  appear- 
ance of  success  have  been  made  with  a  solution  of  organic  matter. 
If  any  attempt  to  produce  organic  matter  from  matter  wholly 
inorganic  has  been  made,  it  has  never,  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
entered  into  the  discussion.  Spencer  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that 
even  if  such  experiments  were  successful,  and  certain  creatures 
which  stand  low  down  in  the  scale  were  thus  produced  by  spon- 
taneous generation,  we  should  still  have  no  light  upon  the  great 
question  of  the  origin  of  life  upon  the  earth;  for  these  creatures, 
however  humble  in  their  scale,  would  all  be  vastly  complicated  in 
comparison  with  what  must  have  been  the  first  appearance  of 
organic  life  in  the  world. 1  In  all  these  questions,  therefore,  we 
have  at  the  hands  of  science  statements  and  beliefs  which  accept 
as  facts  results  which  at  certain  periods  of  the  world's  history 
would  have  been  absolutely  contrary  to  all  previous  experience, 
and  which  at  the  present  day  cannot  be  verified  in  the  sense  that 
they  can  be  repeated. 

Now  it  is  entirely  possible  to  affirm,  with  some  extreme  defen- 
ders of  miracles,  that  the  life  of  Jesus  and  the  introduction  of 
Christianity  into  the  world  constituted  such  a  node.  Here,  it  may 
be  said,  is  a  point  at  which,  so  far  as  certain  facts  are  concerned, 
previous  experience  counts  for  nothing.     There  is  nothing  in  the 

i  The  Principles  of  Biology,  Vol.  I,  Appendix. 


miracles:   their  possibility  375 

a  priori  view,  or  practically  in  any  view,  of  the  history  of  the 
world,  which  would  lead  us  to  deny  in  advance  that  such  a  node 
might  occur  at  which  there  would  be  this  further  step  upward. 
And  if  we  have  thus  a  fresh  node  in  the  history  of  the  world,  we 
have  no  reason  to  expect  that  our  previous  experience  will  not 
be  contradicted;  science  has  no  right  to  assume  in  advance  that 
such  a  contradiction  is  impossible.  Of  course  science  would 
reply — that  is,  the  science  which  denies  the  influence  of  anything 
higher  than  physical  relations — "This  needs  verification.  Re- 
peat these  experiences  and  we  will  believe  them.  Show  us  your 
miracles  today  and  we  will  accept  them."  But  the  believer  in 
miracles  might  answer,  "Do  you  repeat  the  experience  of  the 
development  of  organic  life  from  inorganic  matter,  the  develop- 
ment of  the  conscious  out  of  the  unconscious,  and  we  will 
accept  your  results."  This  of  course  cannot  be  done,  and  the 
question  therefore  becomes  a  question  of  evidence.  According 
to  a  theory  that  is  often  held  by  those  who  believe  in  miracles,  the 
repetition  of  a  miracle  would  be  contrary  to  its  very  nature;  a 
miracle  continually  repeated  would  cease  to  be  a  miracle.  When 
life  first  entered  the  world,  or  when  consciousness  was  first  in- 
troduced, we  can  conceive  it  possible  that  circumstances  may 
have  attended  the  change  which  have  never  since  occurred  again. 
And  just  as  spontaneous  generation,  for  example,  has  not  oc- 
curred again  because  it  has  not  been  needed  again,  so  the  cir- 
cumstances which  were  required  by  the  introduction  of  Chris- 
tianity have  never  been  needed  since  and  therefore  have  never 
occurred  again. 

We  are  safe,  then,  in  saying  that  science  can  furnish  no  reason 
for  affirming  that  miracles  are  a  priori  impossible.  The  real  diffi- 
culty, the  real  conflict,  is  not  with  physical  science,  but  with  the 
science  of  history.  It  is  a  difficulty  of  proof.  The  question 
returns  to  the  point  which  Hume  insisted  upon;  it  passes  from  the 
a  priori  possibility  or  impossibility  of  the  miracle  itself  to  the 
a  priori  impossibility  of  proof.  The  difficulty  in  regard  to  history 
is  that  we  find  by  experience  that  evidence  as  to  the  miraculous 
is  easily  procured,  and  that  in  general  it  carries  very  little  weight. 


376  miracles:   their  possibility 

It  was  this  which  led  Hume  to  take  the  position  that  he  did.  He 
was  travelling  on  the  Continent  and  came  upon  accounts  of 
miracles  which  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  well  authenticated  by 
testimony  which  in  regard  to  anything  else  he  would  have  accepted 
without  question.  As  it  was,  however,  this  testimony  made  not 
the  slightest  impression  upon  him.  He  asked  himself  why  it  did 
not,  and  in  working  out  an  answer  reached  the  result  that  we  have 
been  considering.  Thus  his  examination  was  begun  and  carried 
through,  not  with  any  polemical  purpose,  but  in  order  to  solve  a 
difficulty  that  had  arisen  in  his  own  thought. 

With  the  Protestant  Church  the  tendency  has  been  to  deny  all 
miracles  except  those  that  are  recorded  in  the  Old  Testament  and 
those  that  were  performed  by  Jesus  and  his  immediate  followers. 
All  other  stories  of  the  miraculous  it  has  set  down  as  the  result 
either  of  fraud  or  of  superstition.  The  Catholic  Church,  on  the 
other  hand,  recognizes  a  continuance  of  miracles  in  every  period 
of  the  history  of  the  Church  down  to  the  present  day.  Therefore 
it  is  not  disturbed  by  the  difficulty  which  Hume  encountered  and 
which  presents  itself  to  almost  every  Protestant  mind;  it  accepts 
a  story  of  the  miraculous  about  as  easily  as  it  accepts  the  story 
of  anything  else.  For  anything  that  we  regard  as  a  priori  possible 
and  as  in  itself  not  extremely  unusual,  we  are  ready  to  accept  on 
very  slight  evidence.  There  is  thus  a  great  difference  between  the 
Protestant  position  in  regard  to  miracles  and  the  Catholic  position. 
The  miracle  means  much  more  to  the  Protestant  than  to  the 
Catholic,  but  the  proof  of  the  miracle  is  much  easier  for  the  Catholic 
than  for  the  Protestant.  The  Protestant,  so  to  speak,  plays  for 
higher  stakes,  and  therefore  the  danger  of  losing  is  just  so  much 
increased. 

Perhaps  we  may  say  in  regard  to  this  question  of  miracles  in 
general,  that  the  influence  of  science,  whether  physical  science 
or  the  science  of  history,  is  felt  chiefly  as  it  affects  our  habits 
of  thought.  It  becomes  a  habit  with  us  to  expect  regularity  in  the 
processes  of  the  world,  and  to  look  for  external  and  physical  causes. 
Consequently  we  are  a  little  startled  when  anything  comes  to  in- 
troduce what  appears  to  be  irregularity  or  to  suggest  the  presence 


miracles:   their  possibility  377 

of  some  element  other  than  the  physical.  There  is  that  wonderful 
something  which  we  call  "  the  spirit  of  the  age,"  according  to  which 
we  accept  at  one  period  almost  without  proof  what  it  would  be 
impossible  to  prove  to  another  age,  and  again  with  as  little  definite 
reason  deny  that  which  another  age  might  easily  accept.  It  is 
not  that  one  age  necessarily  knows  more  about  the  matter  than 
another,  but  only  that  a  certain  habit  of  thought  is  characteristic 
of  each  age  and  works  in  and  through  all  the  processes  of  its 
thought.  It  is  fortunate  that  this  is  so,  for  it  is  because  the  world 
does  not  have  to  start  afresh  from  the  beginning  with  each  new 
period,  but  accepts  certain  habits  and  results  as  established,  that 
advance  is  possible.  Yet  there  is  this  difficulty,  incidentally,  that 
each  age  in  turn  tends  to  regard  its  own  spirit  as  final,  and  so 
measures  the  possibilities  of  human  thought  and  experience  by  tests 
which  have  no  absolute  validity  and  may  disappear  with  the  age 
that  has  applied  them.  Therefore  in  any  fundamental  examina- 
tion, while  we  recognize  that  the  spirit  of  the  age  will  enter  largely 
into  our  discussion,  we  must  try  at  the  same  time  to  go  behind  it. 
If  we  look  more  carefully  at  this  question  as  to  scientific  thought 
in  relation  to  the  belief  in  miracles,  we  recognize  three  realms 
with  which  science  has  more  or  less  to  do.  First,  there  is  the 
realm  of  purely  physical  relations.  This  is  fairly  well  under- 
stood from  the  point  of  view  of  science.  Second,  there  is  the  world 
of  life,  of  organism.  The  step  from  one  world  to  another  science 
knows  nothing  about.  Spencer  indeed  attempts  to  indicate  the 
nature  of  the  transition,  but  we  cannot  consider  his  effort  success- 
ful. When,  however,  the  world  of  organic  relations  is  once  en- 
tered, science  feels  very  much  at  home.  But  it  is  not  master  of 
the  situation.  For  in  regard  to  the  vital  element  itself  science 
admits  that  it  knows  little.  It  attempts  to  reduce  all  vital  proc- 
esses to  chemical  processes,  and  such  indeed  they  are  to  a  great 
extent.  But  as  Lewes  insists,1  the  processes  that  go  on  inside  the 
body  are  not  the  same  as  the  processes  that  take  place  outside  the 
body,  because  the  conditions  are  different.  In  this  difference  in 
the  conditions  is  the  very  heart  of  the  problem.     What  are  these 

i  Physical  Basis  of  Mind,  Problem  I,  Chap.  I. 


378  miracles:   their  possibility 

different  conditions  under  which  chemical  processes  inside  the 
body  lead  to  results  which  are  never  produced  by  similar  processes 
outside  the  body  ? 

The  third  realm  with  which  science  has  to  do  is  that  of  psycho- 
physical relations.  I  might  perhaps  have  said  the  realm  of 
psychology,  but  psychology  is  usually  given  over  by  science  to 
philosophy;  I  do  not  understand  the  brain  any  better  because  I 
have  analyzed  it,  but  I  do  understand  it  much  better  when  I 
know  what  its  connection  is  with  thought;  thus  a  difference  in 
terms  which  might  appear  to  be  of  little  importance  really  involves 
a  fundamental  difference  of  view.  The  psycho-physical  realm 
is  one  of  which  science  has  comparatively  little  knowledge.  It 
covers  the  border  line  between  the  physical  and  the  psychical 
and  includes  many  relations  between  mind  and  mind,  and  between 
the  mind  and  external  phenomena,  about  which  science  knows 
little.  Formerly  science  contented  itself  with  a  wholesale  denial 
of  numerous  relations  of  this  kind  which  now  it  begins  to  consider 
worthy  of  investigation.  It  is  to  this  comparatively  unexplored 
region  of  psychical-physiology  that  miracles  belong,  the  realm  of 
the  relation  between  mind  and  matter.  This  is  true  if  we  regard 
them  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  mere  student  of  phenomena, 
and  it  is  no  less  true  if  we  assume  for  them  the  highest  possible 
religious  significance;  from  the  religious  point  of  view,  they  are 
still  the  expression  of  the  relation  of  spirit  to  matter.  As  regards 
the  knowledge  possessed  by  science,  this  psycho-physical  world 
is  like  the  world  of  meteorology.  Of  this  also  science  knows  little. 
For  the  test  of  scientific  knowledge  is  the  power  to  predict,  and 
this  exists  in  meteorology  to  only  a  slight  extent.  If  the  observer 
sees  that  a  wave  of  heat  or  cold  is  within  a  day's  journey  of  us,  so 
to  speak,  he  can  tell  us  that  it  will  be  upon  us  tomorrow,  and  that 
is  about  all.  Yet  meteorology  is  much  more  of  a  science  than  the 
study  of  this  realm  that  lies  on  the  borders  of  the  material  and  the 
spiritual  worlds. 

To  sum  up,  then,  in  a  few  words,  our  whole  discussion  of  the 
question  as  to  the  a  priori  possibility  of  miracles,  we  must  con- 
clude that  they  are  not  a  priori  impossible.     Neither  are  they  a 


THE    VALUE    OF   MIRACLES  379 

-priori  incredible,  for  we  accept  again  and  again  at  the  hands  of 
science  statements  of  relation  which  are  utterly  contrary  to  our 
previous  experience. 

We  have  next  to  ask  what  is  the  value  of  miracles.     What  value 
is  attributed  to  them  in  the  New  Testament  ?     What  value  have 
they  in  themselves  ?     In  the  Gospels  we  find  the  fact  of  the  mira- 
cles taken  for  granted;  the  stories  in  regard  to  them  are  told  as 
naturally  as  any  other  stories.     But  what  did  Jesus  think  of  them  ? 
How  important  did  he  consider  them  ?     We  find  that,  so  far  as 
we  can  judge,  he  ascribed  very  little  importance  to  them.     Ac- 
cording to  the  story  of  his  life  he  had  this  miraculous  power  just 
as  he  had  other  powers,  and  used  it  as  he  used  his  other  powers. 
The  fundamental  value  which  he  appears  to  have  attached  to 
his  miraculous  power  was  that  it  enabled  him  to  relieve  suffering 
and  to  comfort  sorrowing  hearts.     So  far  as  they  might  serve  to 
support  his  teaching  or  authenticate  his  authority,  he  seems  to 
have  regarded  them  as  of  little  importance.     Indeed,  if  there  was 
anything  which  he  appears  to  have  wished  especially  to  avoid, 
it  was  a  reputation  for  wonder-working.     When  he  heals  a  man 
he  tells  him  to  say  nothing  about  it.     WTien  Nicodemus,  impressed 
by  the  miracles,  comes  to  Jesus  saying  "We  know  that  thou  art 
.  .  .  come  from  God:    for  no  man  can  do  these  signs  that  thou 
doest,  except  God  be  with  him,"  Jesus  replies,  "Except  a  man 
be  born  anew,  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  God."  1     Any  au- 
thority from  miracles  is  swept  aside,  and  the  whole  emphasis  is 
laid  upon  the  spiritual  relation  to  God.     Wrhen  Jesus  does  appeal 
to  the  miracles  in  support  of  his  teaching,  it  is  as  a  last  resort. 
"Believe  me  that  I  am  in  the  Father,  and  the  Father  in  me:    or 
else  believe  me  for  the  very  works'  sake"; 2   if  you  cannot  see  the 
divine  element  in  my  life,  he  says  to  the  disciples,  then  you  must 
accept  what  I  am  trying  to  teach  you  because  of  the  miracles. 
The  most  distinct  appeal  to  the  miracles  occurs  in  the  denuncia- 
tion of   Chorazin   and   Bethsaida,  when   he  cries  out  that  if  the 
mighty  works  which  had  been  done  in  them  had  been  done  in 
Tyre  and  Sidon,  they  would  have  repented  long  ago.3     But  here 

1  John,  iii,  1-3.  *  John,  xiv,  11.  3  Matthew,  xi,  13.     Luke,  x,  13. 


380  THE    VALUE    OF   MIRACLES 

again  his  words  are  in  the  nature  of  a  last  resort;  it  is  the  ex- 
treme condemnation  of  Chorazin  and  Bethsaida  that  they  would 
not  believe  even  the  testimony  of  the  miracles.  We  are  told  that 
Jesus  "did  not  many  works"  in  Nazareth  "because  of  their  un- 
belief." l  But  if  the  miracles  were  to  be  regarded  primarily  as  a 
basis  for  belief,  one  might  suppose  that  this  would  have  been 
just  the  sort  of  place  in  which  he  would  most  surely  multiply  them. 
We  find,  therefore,  that  although  now  and  then  Jesus  appeals 
to  the  miracle  as  to  the  lowest  kind  of  testimony,  that  which  he 
desires  always  first  of  all  is  a  recognition  of  the  more  profound 
and  lofty  proof  that  he  offers.  Furthermore,  the  miracles  are 
performed  as  quietly  as  possible,  and  not  in  order  to  create  faith 
but  where  faith  already  exists.  There  is  one  passage  which  seems 
to  stand  apart.  When  the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees  ask  Jesus 
for  a  "  sign  from  heaven,"  he  points  to  "  the  signs  of  the  times." 
"  Ye  know  how  to  discern  the  face  of  the  heaven,"  he  tells  them ; 
"  but  ye  cannot  discern  the  signs  of  the  times.  An  evil  and  adul- 
terous generation  seeketh  after  a  sign,"  he  adds,  "and  there 
shall  no  sign  be  given  unto  it  but  the  sign  of  Jonah."  2  It  is 
interesting  to  notice  that  Strauss  calls  special  attention  to  this 
passage  and  finds  in  it  a  fragment  of  the  original  story  of  the  life 
of  Jesus  as  it  was  given  before  the  element  of  the  miraculous 
began  to  enter.3 

WTien  we  turn  to  the  other  New  Testament  writings  we  find 
a  different  view  of  miracles.  Peter  is  represented  as  speaking 
of  Jesus  as  "  a  man  approved  of  God  unto  you  by  mighty  works 
and  wonders  and  signs,"  4  and  Paul  writes  similarly  of  himself, 
reminding  the  Corinthians  how  "the  signs  of  an  apostle  were 
wrought  among  you  in  all  patience,  by  signs  and  wonders  and 
mighty  works."  5  The  emphasis  is  entirely  different  from  that 
of  Jesus,  and  must  be  regarded  as  indicating  how  distinctly  lower 

1  Matthew,  xiii,  58. 

2  Matthew,  xvi,  1-4.     Mark,  viii,  11,  12.     Luke,  xi,  29,  30. 

3  Life  of  Jesus,  Trans,  of  M.  Evans,  p.  428. 

4  Acts,  ii,  22.  5  7/  Corinthians,  xii,  12. 


THE    VALUE    OF   MIRACLES  381 

was  the  position  of  the  apostles  in  regard  to  the  consciousness  of 
spiritual  truth.  They  do  not  reach  that  clearness  of  vision  which 
we  find  in  Jesus. 

We  have  seen  what  value  is  attributable  to  miracles  in  the 
New  Testament.  What  value  have  they,  considered  in  them- 
selves? There  are  two  aspects  of  their  possible  worth;  they  may 
be  regarded  as  furnishing  evidence  of  spiritual  truth  either  indi- 
rectly or  directly.  Indirectly  a  miracle  may  suggest  the  exaltation 
of  the  person  who  performs  it.  We  see  his  superiority  in  this 
respect  and  infer  that  he  may  be  similarly  superior  in  other  re- 
spects; we  conclude,  therefore,  that  he  is  to  be  trusted  as  having 
in  general  a  wider  outlook  and  greater  powers  than  we  possess. 
At  first  thought  this  process  of  reasoning  might  seem  to  be  nat- 
ural and  safe.  But  there  is  a  difficulty.  For  take  the  relation 
between  the  white  man  and  the  savage.  The  white  man  comes 
with  his  gun  and  his  cannon  and  all  the  other  appliances  of  his 
civilization,  and  the  savage,  recognizing  the  various  ways  in  which 
the  white  man  is  thus  his  superior,  thinks  that  he  must  be  as  wise 
and  good  as  he  is  powerful, — that  he  is  some  divinity  that  has 
come  down  to  him.  But  presently  he  finds  that  although  the 
white  man  has  introduced  much  that  is  good  he  has  also  brought 
with  him  much  that  is  evil;  he  has  proved  not  to  be  the  divine 
being  that  those  wonderful  powers  seemed  at  first  to  indicate. 

Again,  the  miracle  may  serve  indirectly  to  authenticate  the 
authority  with  which  the  person  speaks  who  has  performed  the 
miracle.  He  performs  some  supernatural  act  through  what  he 
may  believe  to  be  the  working  within  him  of  a  divine  power,  and 
he  may  himself  believe,  and  may  lead  others  to  believe,  that  this 
is  the  sign  of  his  authority,  and  that  one  who  can  perform  such 
works  must  be  speaking  by  the  authority  of  God  himself.  But 
here  once  more  a  difficulty  arises,  in  the  fact  that  the  laws  by 
which  the  world  is  governed  and  by  which  man  is  brought  into 
relation  with  the  world,  are  still  so  imperfectly  understood.  In 
a  realm  of  such  relations,  the  laws  of  which  are  not  fully  under- 
stood, any  result  may  appear  under  certain  conditions  to  be 
miraculous.     Thus  the  savage  sees  in  an  eclipse  a  monster  that 


382  THE    VALUE    OF   MIRACLES 

devours  the  sun.  He  shouts  and  beats  his  tom-tom,  and  the 
monster  is  driven  away.  At  any  rate  the  eclipse  ceases,  and  the 
sun  shines  as  before;  and  as  the  savage  always  raises  the  outcry 
whenever  the  eclipse  comes,  and  as  the  eclipse  always  passes,  it 
is  only  natural  that  he  should  conclude  that  it  is  because  of  his 
effort  that  it  has  gone.  But  Columbus  foresaw  an  eclipse  and 
told  the  savages  that  unless  they  brought  him  food  within  a  cer- 
tain time  he  would  blot  out  the  sun  forever.  When  the  time 
arrived  and  the  sun  began  to  darken,  the  savages  brought  the 
food.  Here  are  two  different  types,  on  the  one  hand  the  type  of 
those  cases  in  which  the  persons  who  profess  to  accomplish  the 
miracle  are  themselves  deceived,  and  on  the  other  the  type  of  the 
cases  in  which  natural  powers  are  used  with  the  full  knowledge 
that  they  represent  natural  laws.  The  first  type  is  of  more  im- 
portance than  is  sometimes  supposed.  For  it  is  a  mistake  to 
think  that  the  accomplishment  of  miracles  by  natural  means  is  in 
all  cases  for  the  purpose  of  deception.  The  person  who  performs 
the  miracle  may  himself  connect  the  result  with  something  which 
appears  to  him  to  be  the  cause  when  really  it  is  not  the  cause. 
The  deceit  that  has  been  charged  against  the  priesthood  at 
certain  periods  no  doubt  was  often  a  self-deceit. 

Sometimes  in  considering  the  question  of  spiritualistic  phe- 
nomena, I  have  puzzled  myself  by  asking  whether  there  is  any 
test  by  which  the  reality  of  such  appearances  can  be  proved 
beyond  question.  We  recognize  the  possibility  of  clairvoyance, 
of  optical  delusion,  of  the  action  of  one  mind  upon  another  in 
such  a  way  that  the  optical  delusion  of  one  may  be  shared  by  the 
other,  and  we  recognize  also  the  possibility  of  jugglery  or  of 
fraud.  The  more  we  consider  these  possibilities,  the  greater  the 
difficulty  becomes  of  finding  any  absolute  test  by  which  to  judge 
the  phenomena.  It  is  an  interesting  question,  also,  whether  the 
possession  of  miraculous  powers,  if  granted,  would  raise  the 
individual  who  possessed  them  in  our  estimate  of  him  as  a  teacher 
or  guide  of  life.  The  question  is  one  which  each  may  answer 
for  himself.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  our  estimate  would 
depend  very  much  upon  accompanying  circumstances  and  upon 


THE   VALUE    OF   MIRACLES  383 

the  general  impression  that  we  had  received  in  regard  to  the 
character  and  purpose  of  the  individual  himself. 

The  indirect  evidence  of  spiritual  truth  which  a  miracle  may 
furnish  depends  upon  the  form  of  the  miracle,  the  way  in  which 
it  is  performed.  Its  direct  evidence  depends  upon  its  content, 
upon  the  nature  of  the  transaction  itself  and  of  that  which  it 
involves.  This  content  of  the  miracle  is  of  two  kinds,  special 
and  general.  The  most  prominent  example  of  special  content 
appears  in  the  resurrection  of  Jesus.  Of  this  I  shall  speak  more 
fully  later.1  I  refer  to  it  here  simply  as  an  illustration  of  what 
is  involved  in  the  special  content  of  a  miracle  as  the  direct  evi- 
dence of  spiritual  truth.  The  miracle  of  the  resurrection  of 
Jesus,  then,  does  not  involve  as  its  content  the  immortality  of 
all  men,  nor  the  existence  in  every  man  of  an  immortal  element; 
for  the  circumstances  in  the  case  are  all  of  so  special  a  nature 
that  the  life  after  death  may  also  be  a  special  circumstance.  The 
special  content  of  this  miracle  is  the  possibility  of  life  after  death; 
if  there  is  a  realm  of  spiritual  existence  which  is  independent  of 
bodily  existence,  the  fact  that  a  single  individual  is  known  to 
have  entered  this  realm  would  take  away  any  inherent  impossi- 
bility that  others  also  may  enter  it.  So  far  as  the  general  content 
of  the  miracle  is  concerned,  we  must  regard  it  as  a  manifestation 
of  some  higher  law  with  which  we  had  not  been  familiar  previ- 
ously, and  not  as  the  special  act  of  a  supernatural  being.  For 
even  if  it  be  the  special  act  of  a  supernatural  being,  that  very 
fact  reveals  to  us  primarily  the  law  that  a  supernatural  being 
may  thus  strike  into  the  common  course  of  things  upon  the  earth 
and  change  the  usual  relations.  So  that  even  if  we  regard  the 
miracle  as  a  most  special  act  of  divine  will,  there  still  remains 
the  absolute  importance  of  the  law  behind  the  special  act.  We 
still  must  recognize  a  relation  between  the  world  and  God  which 
makes  such  interference  possible. 

This  relation,  this  law,  is  that  of  the  supremacy  of  spirit  over 

matter.     We  know  something  of  this  supremacy  through  what 

we  can  see  of  the  relation  between  consciousness  and  the  bodily 

organism.     The   miracle   would    illustrate    it   more    directly.     If 

i  Page  466. 


384  THE    VALUE    OF    MIRACLES 

by  the  will  of  any  spiritual  being,  whether  high  or  low,  the  sun 
could  be  made  to  stand  still,  or  the  sick  be  made  well,  or  any 
other  of  the  physical  laws  of  nature  be  similarly  suspended,  we 
should  thus  have  brought  before  us  most  distinctly  the  fact  of  the 
dependence  of  the  material  universe  upon  a  spiritual  universe. 
It  is  true  that  this  evidence  would  be  of  the  very  lowest  kind,  and 
of  a  kind  that  we  ought  not  to  need.  We  ought  to  be  able  by 
our  own  intuition  to  recognize  the  nobility  of  spirit  as  compared 
with  matter,  to  see  that  the  higher  elements  of  the  spiritual  and 
moral  life  are  divine,  and  that  they  are  supreme  over  any  of  the 
lower  elements  of  life  that  depend  upon  material  conditions. 
Anyone  who  does  recognize  the  supremacy  of  spirit  thus  intui- 
tively could  not  be  helped  by  all  the  miracles  in  the  world,  for 
they  would  not  bring  him  any  nearer  to  the  full  perception  of  the 
glory  and  dignity  and  divinity  of  the  spiritual  life;  he  would  see 
in  them  merely  another  manifestation  of  a  force  with  which  he 
was  already  familiar  through  other  channels.  Yet  we  can  con- 
ceive that  to  certain  minds  such  a  display  of  the  power  of  the 
spirit  in  the  material  world  might  sometimes  be  helpful.  It 
might  give  to  the  spiritual  life  an  emphasis,  a  predominance,  by 
which  a  person's  attention  would  be  caught  and  held  so  that  he 
would  be  led  to  perceive  its  divineness  more  clearly  than  might 
otherwise  have  been  possible.  He  might  be  helped  to  feel  that 
the  principle  which  perhaps  he  had  recognized  as  de  jure  supreme 
in  the  world  was  also  supreme  de  facto. 

An  interesting  illustration  of  this  may  be  found  in  Kant's  Cri- 
tique. In  what  he  has  to  say  of  God  and  immortality  he  speaks 
of  the  impossibility  of  really  yielding  ourselves  to  the  power  of 
the  spiritual  life  unless  we  see  that  the  world  itself  is  subject  to 
it.  If  nothing  came  of  righteousness  in  the  world  of  facts,  he 
says  in  substance,  if  happiness  were  not  apportioned  to  desert, 
the  moral  life  itself  could  not  compel  our  full  allegiance.1  Here 
is  the  testimony  of  one  of  the  greatest  thinkers  of  the  world,  who 
felt  perhaps  more  than  any  other,  certainly  more  than  most  others, 
the  sublimity  of  the  moral  law, — here  is  his  testimony  that  the 

i  Trans,  by  F.  Max  Miiller,  1881,  Vol.  H,  pp.  690-703. 


THE    VALUE    OF    MIRACLES  385 

moral  law  itself  wins  allegiance  by  showing  that  the  world  of 
facts  is  subject  to  it.  We  may  admit  that  Kant  was  in  a  sense 
driven  to  this  by  the  exigencies  of  his  argument.  Yet  we  cannot 
help  giving  a  good  deal  of  weight  to  the  fact  that  such  a  mind 
as  this  was  helped  in  its  reverence  for  righteousness  by  seeing  the 
supremacy  of  righteousness  in  the  world  of  experience.  We  feel 
that  if  this  was  the  case  with  a  man  like  Kant  it  must  naturally 
be  still  more  so  with  the  average  man. 

If  we  regard  miracles  in  this  way  as  illustrating  the  supremacy 
of  spirit  over  matter,  we  see  that  the  miracles  recorded  in  the 
New  Testament  do  not  stand  absolutely  alone.  We  find  that 
there  is  a  whole  world  of  phenomena  that  may  be  in  a  certain 
sense  or  in  a  certain  degree  of  a  kindred  nature.  I  have  already 
referred  to  the  phenomena  of  clairvoyance,  mind-reading,  and 
the  like,  which  science  is  beginning  to  recognize  but  for  which 
as  yet  it  has  found  no  test.  These  are  ordinarily  manifested  in 
an  abnormal  development  of  human  nature,  and  to  compare 
them  with  the  New  Testament  miracles  may  appear  at  first  sight 
to  degrade  the  miracles.  But  let  us  consider  the  matter  from 
the  highest  standpoint.  Jesus  moved  in  a  physical  world  and 
made  use  of  the  physical  relations  of  life.  His  body  was  sup- 
ported by  food;  he  made  use  of  the  ordinary  material  appliances 
of  the  time;  he  used  ordinary  speech.  These  ordinary  physical 
relations  and  activities  he  inspired  with  new  meaning,  manifest- 
ing through  them  a  certain  divine  spirit.  All  this  we  recognize 
as  not  at  all  degrading  to  his  earthly  life,  whatever  the  exalta- 
tion that  we  may  ascribe  to  him  before  or  after.  Now  if  we  sup- 
pose that  there  is  above  this  world  of  ordinary  material  relations 
another  world  of  relations  of  which  we  have  only  glimpses  now 
and  then,  but  which  does  exist  and  which  involves  forces  that 
do  manifest  themselves  occasionally  under  varying  circumstances, 
then  we  may  suppose  that  Jesus  used  the  relations  of  this  other 
world  just  as  he  used  the  relations  of  the  physical  world. 

I  said  that  such  phenomena  are  usually  manifested  in  some 
abnormal  development  of  human  nature.  It  often  happens  that 
the  person  who  has    clairvoyant  power  or  who  professes  to  be  a 


386  THE    VALUE    OF   MIRACLES 

medium,  whatever  the  term  may  mean,  loses  the  power  with 
some  change  in  health;  not  infrequently  power  of  this  sort  mani- 
fests itself  in  a  low  state  of  the  physical  condition,  and  passes 
away  as  that  condition  is  restored.  This  is  not  absolutely  and 
invariably  the  case.  Whatever  view  we  take,  so  much  that  is 
contradictory  is  connected  with  the  question  that  no  data  are  to 
be  had  for  a  scientific  statement.  There  may  be  mediums  who 
are  in  good  health,  and  there  may  be  persons  who  are  in  other 
respects  healthy  and  abnormal  only  in  this  particular  direction; 
I  have  in  mind  as  I  speak  one  or  two  mediums  who  are  healthy 
persons,  but  they  are  for  certain  other  reasons  regarded  as  frauds. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  there  is  any  absolute  connection  between 
the  manifestation  of  these  vague  forces  and  the  ill  health  of  the 
persons  through  whom  the  manifestation  takes  place,  but  they 
often  occur  together.  Certainly  these  powers  frequently  appear 
in  connection  with  a  low  moral  development,  and  in  general  we 
recognize  their  abnormal  character.  Thus  the  clairvoyant  must 
as  a  rule  be  taken  out  of  the  world  of  life.  He  loses  the  highest 
gifts  that  belong  to  him  as  man,  and  sinks  down  into  the  common 
material  of  undeveloped  thought.  Nevertheless  we  may  at  least 
conceive  the  possibility  of  a  normal  development  of  life  so  com- 
plete and  perfect  that  these  relations  also  shall  have  their  place 
in  it.  It  may  be  that  in  abnormal  humanity  we  have  a  hint  of 
relations  which  after  all  find  their  true  place  in  the  absolutely 
normal  life.  Of  course  this  is  mere  conjecture.  Yet  it  may 
illustrate  one  positive  aspect  of  the  discussion,  namely,  that  these 
phenomena  are  not  to  be  dismissed  as  wholly  unnatural  and 
improbable,  or  as  wholly  without  any  relation  to  the  higher  de- 
velopment of  the  spiritual  life. 

Possibly  our  greatest  interest  in  this  question,  so  far  as  the 
stories  of  the  New  Testament  miracles  are  concerned,  relates  to 
our  satisfaction  in  reading  the  Gospels.  Many  of  the  loftiest 
words  of  Jesus  seem  to  be  so  closely  connected  with  some  mirac- 
ulous event  that  if  the  miraculous  element  is  taken  away  there 
appears  to  be  danger  that  much  of  the  higher,  spiritual  element 
will  also  be  taken.     In  regard  to  this  Strauss  makes  a  suggestion 


THE   ACTUAL    OCCURRENCE    OF   MIRACLES  387 

which  may  be  helpful, — that  sometimes  a  saying  may  have  sug- 
gested the  incident  which  appears  in  the  story  of  the  life  as  a 
framework  for  the  saying.1  According  to  this  view,  as  the  great 
words  of  Jesus  were  handed  down  at  first  by  oral  tradition,  and 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  the  constructive  tendency,  the 
myth-making  tendency,  of  the  human  mind,  would  by  degrees 
in  all  honesty  and  good  faith  suggest  the  circumstances  under 
which  these  words  must  originally  have  been  spoken. 

This,  however,  brings  us  to  our  third  question.  Did  the  mira- 
cles as  they  are  recorded  in  the  New  Testament  actually  occur  ? 
Let  me  say  at  once  that  the  discussion  of  this  question  belongs 
properly  to  another  department,  that  of  New  Testament  study 
and  the  evidences  of  the  genuineness  of  the  Gospels.  Up  to  this 
point  we  have  been  moving  wholly  in  the  realm  of  theory,  asking 
only  what  might  have  been  and  the  meaning  of  what  might  have 
been,  but  now  the  question  is  whether  certain  events  which  are 
said  to  have  taken  place  really  did  take  place.  In  answering  our 
first  question,  we  tried  to  remove  all  antecedent  impossibility  of 
the  occurrence  of  the  miracles.  This  third  question  brings  us 
to  the  domain  of  history,  and  the  answer  to  it  must  come  not 
through  any  theoretical  considerations  but  by  historical  study. 
There  are  one  or  two  suggestions,  however,  which  may  be  made 
here  without  trespassing  far  upon  the  field  of  others.  First  of 
all,  then,  we  must  recognize  the  fact  that  in  general  the  narrative 
in  the  Gospels  is  unquestionably  faulty;  that  on  the  whole  the 
materials  were  gathered  in  an  uncritical  manner,  and  at  a  time 
considerably  removed  from  the  period  in  which  the  events  oc- 
curred. We  should  therefore  find  it  difficult  to  lay  the  finger  on 
any  one  event  and  say  that  it  must  certainly  have  taken  place. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  is  no  story  of  the  life  of  Jesus  that  does 
not  involve  in  some  degree  a  miraculous  element.  The  two 
elements,  the  spiritual  and  the  miraculous,  appear  to  be  blended 
in  all  the  glimpses  that  we  gather,  unless  we  accept  the  suggestion 
of  Strauss  to  which  I  have  referred,  that  there  was  an  earlier 
story  of  the  life  into  which  the  element  of  the  miraculous  had 

i  Life  of  Jesus,  Trans,  of  M.  Evans,  p.  600. 


388  THE   ACTUAL    OCCURRENCE    OF    MIRACLES 

not  as  yet  entered,  and  that  here  and  there  we  are  given  hints 
of  this  earlier  story  in  the  later  narratives  that  have  come  down 
to  us.1  However  this  may  be,  we  have  also  to  recognize,  secondly, 
that  there  are  in  the  New  Testament  certain  statements  in  regard 
to  miracles  which  rest  upon  an  authority  that  is  known  to  us. 
The  differences  of  opinion  in  regard  to  the  authenticity  and  gen- 
uineness of  the  Gospels  do  not  extend  to  the  principal  letters  of 
Paul,  and  we  find  in  them  definite  reference  by  the  apostle  not 
only  to  miracles  in  general  but  especially  to  miracles  which  he 
himself  has  performed.  The  author  of  Supernatural  Religion 
states  that  no  testimony  to  a  miracle  is  found  to  be  given  by  the 
author  of  the  miracle  himself.2  It  is  true  that  we  do  not  find 
Paul  saying  "  I  performed  this  wonderful  work,"  but  in  both  the 
letter  to  the  church  at  Rome  and  the  second  letter  to  the  Corin- 
thians we  do  find  him  claiming  that  he  has  performed  the  "  wonders 
and  mighty  works"  which  constitute  "the  signs  of  an  apostle."3 
Here  we  have  the  direct  testimony  of  Paul,  in  documents  which 
it  is  generally  agreed  are  genuine,  that  he  himself  had  performed 
works  of  the  sort  that  we  call  miraculous;  and  elsewhere,  as  in 
his  first  letter  to  the  Corinthians4  he  refers  to  such  works  as  habit- 
ually performed  by  the  apostles.  In  what  Paul  says  there  is  no 
direct  testimony  as  to  whether  Jesus  also  performed  works  of 
this  kind,  but  if  we  accept  Paul's  statement  in  regard  to  his  own 
works,  we  may  admit  the  probability  that  works  of  a  similar  kind 
occurred  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  in  the  ministry  of  Jesus. 

I  suppose  that  very  few  at  the  present  day  would  regard  mira- 
cles under  any  aspect  as  wholly  apart  from  law.  Even  if  they 
are  considered  as  the  interference,  in  the  most  extreme  sense,  of 
a  divine  power  with  the  course  of  nature,  the  manifestation  of 
a  single,  separate  act  of  the  divine  will,  few  if  any  would  insist 
that  such  interference  is  mere  caprice.     Some  rationality  would 


a  W.  R.  Cassels,  Supernatural  Religion,  Vol.  I,  p.  200  f.,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  325. 

3  Romans,  xv,  18,  19.     //  Corinthians,  xii,  12. 

4  I  Corinthians,  xii,  9,  10. 


THE   ACTUAL    OCCURRENCE    OF   MIRACLES  389 

be  recognized, — something  which  could  be  formulated  into  a 
general  principle.  It  might  be  the  principle  that  when  in  the 
development  of  the  world  a  certain  crisis  is  reached,  such  inter- 
ference follows.  But  without  rising  to  these  heights  of  specula- 
tion, we  may  recognize  in  the  miraculous,  in  so  far  as  we  admit 
that  it  exists,  the  working  of  the  higher,  spiritual  principle  within 
the  world  of  material  relations. 

In  speaking  of  the  actual  occurrence  of  miracles,  one  is  tempted 
to  try  to  draw  a  line  between  one  miracle  or  class  of  miracles 
and  another  as  regards  their  probability.  We  may  go  a  little 
way  in  such  an  attempt,  but  it  is  likely  to  end  in  purely  arbitrary 
distinctions.  The  worst  possible  method  of  explaining  the 
stories  of  the  miracles,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  so-called  natur- 
alistic or  rationalistic  method.  According  to  this  method,  the 
stories  which  appear  to  contain  accounts  of  miracles  are  ac- 
cepted as  literal  facts,  but  they  are  explained  in  accordance 
with  the  ordinary  processes  of  nature.  Thus  the  story  of  the 
feeding  of  the  multitude  *  is  explained  by  the  supposition  that 
when  Jesus  saw  that  the  people  were  hungry  and  encouraged  his 
disciples  to  bring  out  their  little  stores,  others  who  saw  what  they 
were  doing  followed  their  examples,  and  then  others  still,  and 
thus  the  hunger  of  the  multitude  was  satisfied.  So  in  the  story 
of  the  healing  of  the  demoniac  boy  after  the  transfiguration  of 
Jesus,  the  words,  "This  kind  can  come  out  by  nothing,  save  by 
prayer  and  fasting,"2  are  explained  as  intended  to  teach  that  a 
special  physical  and  spiritual  regimen  was  necessary  in  order  to 
effect  such  cures.  Suppositions  of  this  sort  are  fruitless.  It  is 
better  to  sweep  the  whole  account  away  than  to  try  to  explain 
these  stories  and  reason  the  very  heart  and  essence  out  of  them 
by  such  processes.  This  "naturalistic"  method  furnishes  an- 
other illustration  of  the  depth  to  which  the  loftiest  teaching  may 
fall.  It  all  grew  out  of  the  Kantian  doctrine  that  nothing  enters 
into   religion   except   that   which   has   a   purely   ethical   relation. 

i  Matthew,  xiv,  14-21.     Mark,  vi,  34-44.     Luke,  ix,  12-17.     John,  vi,  1-14. 
2  Mark,  ix,  14-29. 


390  THE    ACTUAL    OCCURRENCE    OF   MIRACLES 

Since  one  can  serve  God  only  by  righteousness  and  has  no  rela- 
tion to  God  except  as  the  administrator  of  the  moral  law,  nothing 
must  be  allowed  to  remain  in  the  New  Testament  that  does  not 
correspond  with  this.  We  can  only  compare  the  efforts  that  have 
resulted  with  Matthew  Arnold's  attempt  to  find  in  the  Jahweh 
of  the  Old  Testament  simply  "  the  Eternal  Power  not  ourselves, 
that  makes  for  righteousness." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  USE  OF  THE  NAME  "  CHRIST":  THE  QUESTION  WHETHER 
JESUS  HIMSELF  CLAIMED  THE  TITLE  OF  MESSIAH. — THE  USE 
OF     THE     NAMES     "CHRISTIAN"     AND     "CHRISTIANITY":     THE 

ACCEPTANCE  OF  THE  LEADERSHIP  OF  JESUS. FREE  RELIGION. 

— THE  RELATION  OF  OTHER  RELIGIONS  TO  CHRISTIANITY. — 
THE  QUALE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. — THE  FIFTH  DEFINITION  OF 
RELIGION. 

The  question  whether  the  name  "Christ"  ought  to  be  used 
is  for  us  comparatively  unimportant,  although  some  of  the  dis- 
cussion of  our  time  has  given  it  a  certain  prominence.  It  is  to 
be  said  first  of  all  that  this  name  like  other  names  is  a  matter  of 
history.  It  is  the  name  which  has  been  applied  to  Jesus  of  Naz- 
areth and  by  the  process  of  historical  development  has  come  to 
belong  to  him.  Individually  we  may  prefer  another  name.  We 
may  prefer  the  name  "Jesus"  as  representing  the  personality 
of  the  life  as  "  Christ"  represents  its  official  relation.  It  may  seem 
to  us  that  whereas  the  name  "Jesus"  has  a  certain  tenderness 
and  carries  with  it  the  sense  of  personal  relation,  the  name  "  Christ" 
tends  rather  to  lift  the  life  to  which  it  is  applied  out  of  the  simple, 
human  relationships.  Furthermore  we  may  feel  that  the  name 
"Christ"  looks  backward  as  well  as  forward,  and  suggests  the 
Jewish  traditions. 

Yet  the  name  has  its  own  very  important  signification  which 
is  not  to  be  disregarded.  For  when  we  look  at  the  matter  less 
superficially,  we  have  to  ask  whether  there  is  in  the  nature  of 
things  any  inherent  reason  why  the  name  "Christ"  should  not  be 
applied  to  Jesus.  It  is  frequently  said  that  since  the  contem- 
poraries of  Jesus  were  expecting  a  Messiah  who  should  come  as 
a  temporal  ruler  and  exalt  the  Jewish  nation  to  the  supremacy 
in  the  world  which  thev  believed  to  be  their  due,  and  since  Jesus 


392  THE    USE    OF   THE    NAME        CHRIST 

fulfilled  no  such  function  as  this,  it  is  therefore  a  dishonest  use 
of  terms  to  speak  of  him  as  "Christ."  By  what  right,  however, 
is  the  usage  of  the  contemporaries  of  Jesus,  or  of  those  who  were 
his  predecessors  for  a  limited  period,  to  be  taken  as  the  standard 
in  determining  the  meaning  of  the  term  ?  It  is  a  term  of  national 
significance  and  must  be  interpreted  in  the  light  of  the  national 
history  as  a  whole  rather  than  by  the  understanding  of  it  in  any 
single  period.  As  we  look  back  through  the  Hebrew  scriptures 
we  find  in  the  earlier  references  to  the  Messianic  expectation  some- 
thing very  different  from  the  narrow  view  that  became  current  in 
later  Jewish  history.  If  we  may  accept  the  view  so  generally 
held,  that  the  Messianic  expectation  appears  in  the  story  of  Abra- 
ham,1 then  both  in  the  story  itself  and  in  the  various  references 
to  it  we  have  an  outlook  that  is  large  and  unconditioned.  The 
argument  which  Paul  rests  upon  the  story  2  may  seem  to  us  fan- 
tastic, but  nevertheless  it  has  a  fundamental  meaning  in  this 
aspect.  Paul  argues  that  since  the  promise  to  Abraham  was  given 
before  the  law  and  even  before  the  establishment  of  Jewish  nation- 
ality, it  was  to  be  fulfilled  outside  of  the  law  and  outside  of  the 
mere  nationality,  and  he  urges  that  later  enactments  cannot  annul 
or  contradict  the  breadth  of  the  earlier  promise. 

Paul's  argument,  however,  is  open  to  criticism.  Without 
giving  it  too  much  weight,  and  without  confining  ourselves  to 
single  passages  which  may  be  of  doubtful  interpretation,  we  have 
to  ask  what  were  the  dominating  thoughts  of  the  Hebrew  people 
throughout  their  history  as  it  finds  expression  in  their  scriptures. 
One  was  the  thought  of  God,  the  other  that  of  the  Hebrew  nation- 
ality. These  two  elements  were  often  in  conflict,  but  on  the 
whole  they  moved  forward  together  with  a  certain  harmony.  As 
we  compare  them,  which  was  the  more  fundamental  and  essential 
in  the  Jewish  mind  ?  Did  God  exist  for  the  sake  of  the  Hebrew 
people,  or  did  the  Hebrew  people  exist  as  a  nationality  to  carry 
out  the  will  of  God  ?  I  am  not  asking  the  question  in  regard  to 
the  fact  as  we  might  look  at  it.  I  am  only  asking  what  was  the 
relation  between  the  two  elements  from  the  Hebrew  point  of  view, 

1  Genesis,  xii,  3,  xxii,  18.  2  Romans,  iv. 


THE    USE    OF   THE    NAME    "  CHRIST "  393 

and  I  think  that  we  need  not  hesitate  to  say  that  in  the  Hebrew 
thought  the  nationality  existed  in  order  to  carry  out  the  will  of 
God.  We  find  that  the  greatest  promises  are  made  to  the  Hebrew 
people,  but  we  also  find  that  every  promise  is  conditional,  and 
furthermore  that  there  are  threatenings  which  are  as  intense  as 
the  promises.  So  long  as  the  nation  is  obedient  and  true,  and  does 
the  will  of  God,  so  long  shall  the  people  be  his  people;  but  if  the 
nation  ceases  to  yield  itself  to  be  the  instrument  of  God,  then  it 
will  be  itself  forsaken  by  him.  That  is  the  teaching  throughout 
the  Old  Testament  scriptures  in  regard  to  the  relation  between 
the  Hebrew  people  and  God.  If  this  is  recognized,  we  may  go 
a  step  further  and  find  in  the  Christ  the  flowering  or  completion 
of  this  whole  development.  If  heretofore  in  the  development 
the  universal  or  divine  element  rather  than  the  national  element 
has  been  the  essential  element,  then  we  should  expect  to  find  that 
in  the  Christ  the  divine  rather  than  the  national  element  would 
be  similarly  predominant.  But  if  the  national  element  is  thus 
subordinate  in  the  Christ  idea,  the  Messianic  idea,  when  consid- 
ered as  representing  the  general  trend  of  Hebrew  thought  through- 
out the  history  of  the  nation  as  a  whole,  then  the  fact  that  the 
coming  of  Jesus  was  not  a  national  triumph  need  not  disturb  us 
or  prevent  us  from  speaking  of  him  as  Christ. 

This  theory  finds  confirmation  or  illustration  in  the  Christian 
use  of  Hebrew  scriptures  and  forms  and  customs.  The  Hebrew 
scriptures  are  read  in  Christian  pulpits  and  together  with  the 
peculiarly  Christian  scriptures  form  the  sacred  book  of  the  Chris- 
tian. The  God  of  the  Hebrews  is  worshipped  by  Christians  under 
the  names  by  which  the  Hebrews  worshipped  him;  Christians 
accept  literally  the  great  phrases  of  the  Hebrews  in  regard  to  God, 
as  Creator  and  Lord  of  all.  The  sacred  day  of  the  Hebrews  is 
kept  by  Christians;  that  is  to  say,  a  "seventh  day"  is  observed, 
and,  to  a  very  large  extent,  in  obedience  to  the  Hebrew  law.  Thus 
we  have  many  of  the  essential  elements  of  the  religious  life  of  the 
Hebrews  made  universal  in  Christianity.  We  must  recognize, 
however,  that  all  fulfilment  is  larger  than  the  hope;  the  future  is 
necessarily  foreign  to  the  experience  of  men,  and  can  be  pictured 


394  THE    USE    OF    THE    NAME    "  CHRIST 

by  them  only  in  the  terms  which  are  familiar  to  them.  Still  we 
recognize  the  early  hope  as  prophetic  even  although  the  fulfilment 
so  far  surpasses  it.  Thus  we  know  perfectly  well  that  Columbus 
did  not  undertake  to  discover  a  new  world,  but  was  simply  trying 
to  find  a  new  way  around  to  the  other  side  of  the  old  world;  he 
did  not  know  that  he  had  discovered  another  continent.  Yet 
because  he  accepted  the  best  thought  and  learning  of  his  time, 
and  acted  upon  them,  we  applaud  him  as  the  discoverer  of  the 
new  world  and  give  him  praise  for  the  results,  although  they  were 
so  different  from  what  he  thought  and  planned.  Luther  by  no 
means  undertook  to  found  a  new  division  in  the  Church  when  he 
set  out  to  reform  the  methods  of  the  established  faith.  The  Pil- 
grims came  to  this  country  to  escape  the  interference  of  those 
from  whom  they  differed,  but  we  regard  them  as  the  founders  of 
our  religious  freedom.  The  discoveries  of  science  are  largely 
accidental;  yet  when  such  discoveries  lie  in  the  direction  in  which 
the  individual  scientist  was  looking,  when  the  accident  has  found 
him  ready,  we  give  him  the  credit  of  the  result,  no  matter  how 
much  greater  it  may  prove  than  anything  that  he  had  foreseen. 
Or  take  the  thought  of  immortality.  If  we  try  to  picture  to  our- 
selves the  larger  life,  we  know  that  any  image  that  we  can  form 
of  it  must  be  incorrect,  and  that  when  it  comes  we  shall  find  it 
very  different  from  what  we  dream.  Yet  we  do  not  doubt  that 
our  dream  is  a  prophecy,  and  that  the  larger  life,  although  beyond 
what  eye  hath  seen  or  ear  heard,  shall  still  be  the  fulfilment  of  the 
life  that  now  is.  Suppose  the  bud  were  to  dream  of  the  coming 
flower;  the  flower  is  beyond  the  power  of  the  bud  to  anticipate, 
and  yet  it  is  the  fulfilment  of  the  bud.  Christianity  was  such 
a  flowering  of  the  Jewish  life,  and  however  different  the  Christ 
was  in  his  actual  coming  from  the  expectation  in  regard  to  him, 
he  may  none  the  less  be  accepted  as  its  fulfilment.  It  seems  to 
me  that  this  is  true  whatever  the  attitude  that  we  take  in  regard 
to  Jewish  history.  We  may  regard  the  Messianic  anticipation 
strictly  as  prophecy,  or  we  may  think  of  it  only  as  the  dream  of 
the  people.  But  in  either  case,  if  we  take  the  larger  view  that  I 
have  indicated,  the  use  of  the  term  "  Christ "  is  justified. 


"CHRISTIAN"    AND    "CHRISTIANITY  '  395 

Did  Jesus  himself  claim  the  title  during  his  life  ?  Martineau's 
discussion  of  this  question1  is  profound,  but  he  is  not  always  happy 
in  his  exegesis.  He  finds  in  the  charge  of  Jesus  to  the  disciples 
"that  they  should  tell  no  man  that  he  was  the  Christ"  2  a  denial 
of  the  Messiahship.  There  is  here,  it  is  true,  this  aspect  of  the 
case,  that  since  according  to  the  account  in  Matthew  and  Luke 
Jesus  up  to  that  time  had  not  been  known  as  the  Messiah  and 
then  charged  the  disciples  that  they  should  not  make  his  Messiah- 
ship  known,  it  is  possible  that  the  story  is  one  of  later  growth,  in- 
tended to  explain  why  Jesus  was  not  recognized  as  the  Messiah 
during  his  own  lifetime.  The  prediction  of  the  coming  of  the  Son 
of  man  before  the  disciples  shall  have  gone  through  the  cities  of 
Israel3  may  be  an  acknowledgment  of  the  Messiahship,  unless 
we  assume  that  the  prediction  is  simply  a  remnant  of  the  earlier 
belief  in  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  and  that  Jesus  is  preaching 
that  coming  just  as  John  had  been  preaching  it.  Romanes  thinks 
that  the  belief  in  the  resurrection  of  Jesus  led  his  followers  to 
assume  that  he  was  the  Messiah.  Over  against  all  this,  however, 
the  inscription  on  the  cross,  "The  King  of  the  Jews,"  indicates 
that  there  had  been  the  acceptance  of  the  Messiahship  during  the 
life  of  Jesus,  that  he  had  recognized  himself  as  the  Messiah  and 
had  been  so  recognized  by  his  followers.  This  inscription  is 
found  in  all  four  of  the  Gospels,4  and  is  one  of  the  earliest  of  the 
traditions. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  if  the  term  "Christ"  may  be  used, 
the  terms  "Christian"  and  "Christianity"  also  may  be  taken  for 
granted,  and  vice  versa.  But  there  are  some  who  do  not  assent  to 
this.  All  agree  that  "Christian"  and  "Christianity"  are  his- 
torical terms;  the  question  is,  to  what  period  of  belief  shall  they 
be  applied  ?  It  has  been  urged  that  medieval  Christianity  is  the 
real  Christianity,  not  because  this  was  more  in  accord  with  the 
teaching  of  Jesus,  but  because  it  was  the  historical  form  which 
Christianity  assumed  and  under  which  Christianity  became  an 

1  The  Seat  of  Authority  in  Religion,  Book  IV,  Chap.  II. 

2  Matthew,  xvi,  20.     Luke,  ix,  21.  3  Matthew,  x,  23. 
i  Matthew,  xxvii,  37.     Mark,  xv,  26.     Luke,  xxiii,  38.     John,  xix,  19. 


396  "christian     and     Christianity 

organized  power  in  the  world.  Those  who  take  this  view  would 
have  the  broader  forms  of  the  Christianity  of  today  spoken  of 
as  Neo-Christianity,  just  as  the  later  school  of  Platonists  was 
called  Neo-Platonism.  The  suggestion,  however,  is  not  a  happy 
one.  For  whereas  the  term  " Neo-Platonism"  has  a  definite  mean- 
ing in  the  history  of  philosophy,  the  term  "  Neo-Christianity " 
can  have  no  such  definite  meaning  in  the  history  of  Christianity, 
but  must  always  be  a  movable  term.  Medieval  Christianity 
itself  was  Neo-Christian  as  compared  with  earlier  forms,  and  if 
that  which  it  is  now  proposed  to  call  Neo-Christianity  were  to  hold 
its  own  long  enough  to  have  a  historical  existence  equivalent  to 
the  existence  of  what  is  now  called  Christianity,  then  through  its 
very  survival  it  would  come  to  be  known  itself  as  Christianity,  and 
the  term  "Neo-Christianity"  would  be  applied  to  some  yet  newer 
form.  The  term  "Neo-Christianity"  would  thus  be  continually 
pushed  forward  until  its  content  would  be  as  various  as  that  of  the 
term  "Christianity"  itself.  No,  the  historic  sense  has  judged 
rightly  in  giving  the  one  name  to  the  entire  movement  which 
began  with  Jesus  and  his  apostles,  however  great  the  changes 
that  have  taken  place  in  the  course  of  its  development.  For  there 
is,  if  nothing  more,  a  certain  sequence  or  current,  which  justifies 
the  use  of  the  same  term  throughout.  It  is  like  the  course  of  a 
great  river.  A  slender  stream  at  first,  how  vast  it  is  as  it  approaches 
the  sea!  Other  rivers  have  poured  themselves  into  it  and  have 
become  lost  in  it,  and  still  we  call  it  by  the  same  name  that  it  bears 
at  its  source.  Men  may  object,  "  It  is  not  the  same  stream  here 
that  it  was  there !  See  how  impure  it  has  become !  See  how  much 
there  is  in  it  now  that  does  not  belong  to  the  original  stream ! " 
But  still  we  recognize  the  one  course  throughout,  and  we  feel  that 
the  one  name  is  rightly  given  to  the  whole.  In  a  wholly  similar 
way,  the  history  of  Christianity  is  a  single  movement,  the  out- 
growth of  a  single  impulse.  External  influences  have  more  or 
less  modified  it,  the  philosophies  and  sciences  of  the  world  have 
contributed  to  it,  the  working  of  man's  reason  has  broadened  or 
deepened  it.  But  still  it  is  the  same  stream,  and  may  bear  through- 
out its  course  the  same  name. 


"christian"  and  "Christianity"  397 

We  may  go  deeper.  There  are  certain  elements  which  have 
been  the  same  in  all  periods  of  Christian  history.  The  impulse 
that  came  from  Jesus  to  human  faith  and  human  brotherhood 
we  find  effective  throughout.  As  I  have  already  said,  we  are  not 
to  look  for  this  in  external  forms,  in  that  outer  region  in  which 
Christianity  became  turbid  through  its  contact  with  the  world 
around  it;  we  are  not  to  look  for  it  in  creeds  and  in  official  lives 
and  in  ecclesiastical  conditions.  We  are  to  look  for  it  in  the  inner 
life,  in  the  love  and  the  self-sacrifice  which  manifest  themselves 
under  all  these  outward  forms.  It  is  here  that  in  spite  of  much 
error  and  crudity  of  thought  and  sinfulness  we  find  embodied  in 
greater  or  in  less  degree  the  fundamental  principles  of  Christianity, 
and  it  is  to  these  fundamental  principles  that  we  refer  when  we 
speak  of  Christianity,  rather  than  to  the  over-shadowing  ecclesias- 
tical structure.  Thus  in  the  profounder  aspect  of  Christianity  as 
well  as  from  the  outward,  ecclesiastical  point  of  view,  we  see  the 
propriety  of  carrying  on  the  name  "Christianity"  to  all  the  larger 
results  of  the  later  growth.  It  would  seem  to  be  especially  un- 
fortunate to  choose  the  present  time  in  which  to  give  up  the  name 
just  when  Christianity  is  beginning  to  have  more  of  the  spiritual 
significance  that  from  the  teaching  of  Jesus  himself  so  essentially 
belongs  to  it.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  the  mere  momentum  of 
history,  and  when  we  find  that  a  mighty  current  is  tending  more 
than  ever  before  in  the  direction  in  which  we  wish  to  move,  and 
in  which  we  desire  that  the  world  shall  move,  it  would  seem  not 
to  be  the  best  time  to  dig  our  little  canal  in  order  to  start  an  inde- 
pendent movement  of  our  own. 

There  is  an  objection,  however,  of  a  different  kind,  which  per- 
haps is  more  generally  felt  than  this  which  we  have  just  been 
considering.  Does  not  the  use  of  the  name  "Christian"  imply 
a  certain  servitude?  Does  it  not  imply  the  recognition  of  Jesus 
as  a  master,  and  does  not  this  involve  an  intellectual  submission, 
a  limitation  of  our  freedom  of  thought  ?  But  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  Christianity  is  not  primarily  or  fundamentally  an  in- 
tellectual system.  It  does  not  mean  a  dogma.  What  it  does 
mean  is  the  power  of  the  spiritual  life.     It  may  be  said  that  when 


398  "christian     and    'Christianity 

Paul  writes  "though  we,  or  an  angel  from  heaven  should  preach 
unto  you  any  other  gospel  ...  let  him  be  anathema,"1  he  is  laying 
down  a  dogma  which  must  be  accepted  on  pain  of  expulsion,  or 
of  whatever  is  meant  by  the  word  "anathema."  But  Paul  is 
here  opposing  the  teaching  which  would  make  obedience  to  the 
Jewish  ritual  essential  to  Christianity.  Instead  of  laying  down  a 
dogma,  he  is  in  reality  protesting  against  the  limitation  from  any 
dogma.  He  is  protesting  in  behalf  of  liberty,  of  absolute  liberty. 
Of  course  the  spiritual  life  implies  a  certain  belief;  it  demands 
for  its  complete  development  the  belief  in  God.  Jesus,  in  bring- 
ing fresh  inspiration  to  the  spiritual  life,  insisted  upon  a  higher 
conception  of  God  and  of  man's  relation  to  him  than  had  ever 
been  recognized  before.  In  this  sense  it  is  true  that  we  have  a 
doctrine  or  dogma  underlying  Christianity.  But  those  who 
would  shrink  even  from  such  recognition  as  this,  who  would 
urge  the  necessity  of  absolute  freedom  of  thought  and  insist  upon 
the  ethical  theory  of  life,  forget  that  there  is  nothing  so  dogmatic 
and  uncompromising  as  ethics.  Ethics  demands  absolutely  that 
what  is  right  shall  be  seen  to  be  right.  Our  morning  papers  con- 
tain a  protest  from  the  Mormon  leaders  insisting  upon  the  right 
of  liberty  in  regard  to  the  question  as  to  a  plurality  of  wives.  In 
almost  any  other  aspect  of  life  a  protest  that  urged  the  right  of 
liberty  would  meet  with  some  sort  of  response  in  the  hearts  of  the 
people.  But  the  people  recognize  the  fact  that  when  a  funda- 
mental principle  of  morals  is  involved  the  principle  of  liberty 
does  not  apply.  In  matters  of  belief  ethics  is  as  absolute  as  re- 
ligion. Furthermore,  when  we  speak  of  freedom  of  thought  in 
regard  to  matters  of  fundamental  belief,  we  recognize  or  ought  to 
recognize  the  fact  that  the  highest  life  is  impossible  without 
certain  beliefs.  The  highest  moral  life  is  impossible  without  a 
belief  in  some  principle  of  right,  and  the  highest  religious  life  is 
impossible  without  some  belief  in  God;  the  very  highest  religious 
life  demands  the  highest  belief  in  regard  to  God.  Yet  while 
Christianity  thus  of  necessity  recognizes  divine  reality  as  the  ob- 
ject of  belief,  that  belief  is  embodied  in  the  heart  and  in  the  life. 
Jesus  brings  a  higher,  nearer  belief  in  God.  But  he  does  not 
1  Galatians,  i,  9. 


"christian"  and  "Christianity"  399 

insist  upon  belief;  he  takes  belief  for  granted.  "Ye  believe  in 
God,"  he  is  represented  as  saying,  "believe  also  in  me."1  Or 
again,  "  Ye  therefore  shall  be  perfect,  as  your  heavenly  Father  is 
perfect."2  He  does  not  argue  that  there  is  the  Father  who  is 
good  and  perfect,  but  he  emphasizes  the  power  of  that  spiritual 
life  which  blends  ethics  and  religion  in  inseparable  union. 

There  may  be  a  certain  grandeur  in  the  protest  against  leader- 
ship considered  simply  as  leadership  and  as  implying  absolute 
allegiance  from  those  who  follow.  But  there  is  surely  something 
petty  in  the  protest  against  leadership  when  it  demands  activity 
and  the  development  of  the  powers  of  life  itself.  In  any  great 
crises  there  are  always  enough  to  protest  against  such  leadership 
and  to  stand  back  and  criticise.  But  when  there  is  some  one  who 
is  leading  in  the  direction  which  we  recognize  as  that  in  which  we 
and  all  the  world  ought  to  move,  it  seems  to  be  mere  folly  to  draw 
back  and  raise  questions  as  to  the  propriety  of  such  leadership. 
We  might  well  question  if  we  found  that  the  leader  was  going 
wrong,  or  that  there  was  another  in  advance  of  him.  We  might 
question  if  we  should  find,  any  of  us,  that  we  were  ourselves  in 
advance.  But  the  protest  is  hardly  justified  when  it  comes  from 
the  ranks,  from  those  who  are  still  far  from  the  position  to  which 
the  leader  would  draw  us  on.  I  have  spoken  of  the  great  power  in 
the  mere  momentum  of  the  history  of  Christianity.  This  mo- 
mentum has  been  gained  by  the  force  of  Christianity  itself  and  by 
the  leadership  of  Jesus.  There  is  a  profound  truth  in  that  parable 
of  the  vine  which  Jesus  uses;  mere  individual  effort  can  accom- 
plish little  as  compared  with  what  might  result  if  the  individual 
effort  were  joined  to  the  great  movement  which  is  bearing  society 
along  with  it.  If  we  are  to  seek  for  the  justification  of  the  leader- 
ship of  Jesus,  we  must  look  primarily,  as  I  have  already  said,  to 
the  fact  that  he  leads.  For  in  any  great  conflict  like  this  between 
right  and  wrong,  between  the  spiritual  and  the  material,  the  fact 
that  any  one  leads  is  the  real  justification  of  his  leadership.  In 
the  story  of  the  battle  of  Lake  Regillus,  when  the  twin  gods  came 
to  lead  the  Roman  hosts  to  victory,  their  divinity  was  recognized 

iJohn,  xiv,  1.  2  Matthew,  v,  48. 


400  "christian"  and  "Christianity" 

not  because  of  any  marvel  or  splendor  that  accompanied  them, 
but  because  they  pressed  forward  against  the  enemy  and  the 
Romans  followed  them  and  won  the  battle. 

It  is  sometimes  urged,  as  still  another  difficulty  in  accepting  the 
leadership  of  Jesus,  that  accident  had  so  large  a  part  in  giving  him 
his  position  in  history.1  Thus  there  was  the  belief  in  his  speedy 
second  coming,  which  inspired  the  early  Church  and  sustained  it 
in  the  midst  of  its  trials.  Such  accidents  no  doubt  did  enter 
very  largely  into  the  life  of  Christianity  and  aided  in  its  triumph. 
Suppose  that  we  start  with  all  this.  What  of  it?  Is  there  any 
leadership  into  which  accident  does  not  enter?  How  many 
accidents  entered  into  the  career  of  Lincoln!  How  many  knew 
him  when  he  was  nominated  for  the  presidency  ?  Would  he  have 
been  nominated  if  he  had  been  known  ?  Among  the  thousand 
and  one  elements  that  contributed  to  his  nomination  and  election 
was  the  fact  that  the  country  did  not  dream  how  large-hearted 
and  large-minded  a  man  he  was.  And  history  is  full  of  examples 
of  this  kind.  But  this  does  not  detract  from  the  work  that  is 
accomplished.  The  true  leader  is  he  who  can  make  use  of  these 
accidents  and  so  prove  his  right  to  the  position  to  which  they 
have  brought  him. 

Of  course  I  am  speaking  most  superficially  in  using  the  term 
"accident"  in  this  way,  for  we  have  already  recognized  the  work- 
ing of  the  great  principle  of  teleology  toward  precisely  this  result 
that  we  have  been  considering.  But  looking  at  the  question 
merely  from  the  outside,  we  still  are  justified  in  urging  that  acci- 
dental circumstances  are  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  fact 
that  the  leader  who  is  thus  brought  forward  shows  the  right 
and  the  power  to  lead.  As  I  have  said  before  in  another  con- 
nection,2 the  only  cause  for  which  anyone  need  hesitate  to  take 
the  name  "  Christian"  would  be  the  doubt  whether  he  was  worthy 
to  bear  it.  It  stands  for  the  ideal  of  the  spiritual  life,  and  to  take 
and  bear  it  implies  that  one  has  felt  the  power  of  that  life. 

It  may  be  that  what  I  have  already  said  makes  it  unnecessary 

i  Gibbon,  The  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  Chaps.  XV,  XVI. 
2  Page  358. 


FREE    RELIGION  401 

to  dwell  at  any  length  upon  what  is  known  as  free  religion.  Yet 
there  are  one  or  two  matters  of  which  I  wish  to  speak  in  this 
connection,  even  at  the  risk  of  some  repetition.  I  refer  to  free 
religion  by  name,  because  the  name  is  that  which  is  most  dis- 
tinctive. I  suppose  free  religion  means  fundamentally  uncom- 
bined  religion.  The  term  may  best  be  explained  by  a  chemical 
analogy.  Free  oxygen  is  oxygen  which  is  wholly  uncombined; 
usually  oxygen  is  found  in  union  with  other  elements,  and  free 
oxygen  is  obtained  for  the  most  part  by  artificial  chemical  proc- 
esses. Now  to  a  certain  extent  religion  may  be  said  to  resemble 
oxygen  in  that  there  is  the  pure  religious  element,  the  fundamental 
religious  principle,  which,  however,  is  found  in  history  combined 
wth  other  elements  and  forming  thus  the  various  historical  re- 
ligions which  we  know  as  Buddhism,  Parseeism,  Christianity, 
etc.  By  free  religion,  therefore,  following  the  analogy,  we  should 
understand  the  religious  principle  separated  from  the  elements 
with  which  it  is  combined  in  these  various  religions,  and  taken 
for  what  it  is  in  itself.  The  principle  of  free  religion  as  thus 
understood  is  of  fundamental  importance,  and  the  members  of 
the  different  religious  bodies  of  the  world  may  unite  with  great 
advantage  in  comparing  notes  with  one  another  and  recognizing 
what  they  have  in  common.  Yet  the  attempt  to  reach  the  gen- 
eral principle  of  religion  by  mere  analysis  is  not  one,  it  seems  to 
me,  that  holds  out  to  us  the  highest  hope  of  great  accomplish- 
ment. For  as  I  have  already  suggested1  the  religions  of  the  world 
are  to  a  large  extent  complementary  to  one  another,  and  if  we  try 
to  take  from  each  that  which  is  common  to  all,  the  result  may  be 
rather  meagre.  We  are  rather  to  take  the  principle  which  each 
religion  insists  upon  as  most  fundamental  and  add  it  to  our  gen- 
eral conception  of  religion.  Any  attempt  to  arrive  at  what  is 
common  to  all  the  different  religions  must  be  like  Spencer's  com- 
promise between  science  and  religion  which  left  in  his  hands  only 
the  empty  form  of  his  Unknowable.2  In  that  case  we  saw  that 
the  true  compromise  was  to  be  reached  not  by  a  process  of  ab- 
straction but  by  a  process  of  concretion,  and  here  in  a  similar 

xPage  86.  2  Chapter  I. 


402  FREE    RELIGION 

way  we  must  ask  of  each  religion  what  is  most  concrete  in 
it  and  thus  obtain  its  most  real  contribution  to  our  religious 
thought. 

Practically  speaking,  the  theory  of  free  religion  tends  to  put  all 
religions  on  a  level.  As  I  have  said  before,1  there  is  no  a  priori 
reason  why  this  should  not  be  done.  There  is  no  reason  why 
we  should  say  in  advance  that  any  one  religion  would  be  superior 
to  any  other,  and  in  a  comparative  study  of  the  different  religions 
we  must  take  it  for  granted  at  the  outset  that  the  contribution  of 
one  is  as  likely  to  be  important  as  the  contribution  of  another. 
But  from  the  a  posteriori  point  of  view  we  find  that  all  religions 
are  not  upon  a  level.  It  is  doubtful  whether  anyone  would  claim 
that  the  religion  of  a  savage  which  consisted  in  a  dread  of  dis- 
embodied spirits  and  the  desire  to  propitiate  them,  was  on  an 
equality  with  the  Mazdean  religion,  with  its  recognition  of  one 
divine  being,  the  absolute  Creator  and  the  absolute  Good.  If, 
then,  as  we  study  the  various  religions,  we  find  that  there  is  a  differ- 
ence in  the  importance  of  the  contributions  which  they  severally 
have  to  make,  our  a  priori  assumption  of  an  equality  among  them 
goes  for  nothing,  and  we  must  ask  ourselves  what  it  is  in  which 
religions  differ  and  whether  there  is  any  which  is  superior  to  all 
as  truly,  if  not  to  so  great  a  degree,  as  the  Mazdean  religion  is 
superior  to  the  religion  of  the  savage.  In  answer  to  these  ques- 
tions we  have  found  that  Christianity  does  stand  higher  than 
any  other  religion.  Not  only  is  its  own  especial  contribution  the 
most  important,  but  there  is  in  it  a  place  for  what  is  most  essential 
in  each  of  the  other  great  religions.  Freedom  of  religion,  em- 
bracing all  religions,  is  too  vague.  It  suggests  no  aim,  no  ideal. 
Freedom  in  itself  is  the  emptiest  of  categories;  it  must  serve 
always  as  the  basis  for  some  accomplishment.  Free  religion  lacks 
the  emphasis  which  is  needed  as  a  stimulus  to  the  spiritual  life. 
Such  emphasis  may  indeed  be  harmful  if  it  is  not  absolutely  true. 
But  we  have  seen  that  the  emphasis  of  Christianity  is  true.  It 
rests  upon  that  which  is  most  precious  and  essential  in  all  re- 
ligion. When,  therefore,  we  use  the  term  "Christianity"  we  use 
a  term  which  represents  that  which  is  at  the  same  time  absolute  and 
i  Page  334. 


OTHER    RELIGIONS   AND    CHRISTIANITY  403 

definite.  It  is  absolute  because  it  is  the  highest  ideal,  and  it  is 
definite  because  that  highest  ideal  is  a  real  ideal. 

I  have  already  touched  on  the  objection  which  is  sometimes 
made  to  the  use  of  the  term  "  Christianity,"  that  other  religions 
in  their  later  results  stand  as  high  as  the  highest  teachings  of  Chris- 
tianity.1 These  later  developments  in  other  religions  have  been 
confessedly  an  outgrowth  of  the  influence  of  Christianity.  The 
question  in  regard  to  them  is  whether  the  blending  of  the  thought 
of  other  religions  with  Christian  thought  has  added  anything  for 
which  Christianity  has  no  place  or  of  which  it  does  not  offer  the 
germ.  Thus  all  that  the  later  Hindu  thought  might  be  expected 
to  add  would  be  the  mystical  doctrine  of  the  presence  of  God  in 
nature;  but  Christianity  finds  place  for  this  both  in  the  doctrine 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  and  in  the  express  teachings  of  Paul.  What  is 
true  here  is  equally  true  in  other  directions.  Indeed  it  is  im- 
possible that  the  results  which  Christianity  has  reached  should  be 
reproduced  by  any  independent  historical  process.  I  need  not 
repeat  what  I  have  already  said  in  regard  to  this.  I  will  only  re- 
mind you  that  throughout  the  whole  of  our  discussion  as  to  the 
absoluteness  of  Christianity  in  its  practical  aspect  we  have  con- 
fined ourselves  to  the  examination  of  facts  as  history  presents  them 
to  us.  The  results  which  we  have  reached  seem  to  me  to  flow 
naturally  and  necessarily  from  these  facts.  They  are  of  course 
open  to  examination  and  criticism  and  refutation.  All  that  I 
urge  is  that  in  any  examination  of  them  the  facts  upon  which  they 
are  based  should  not  be  ignored. 

It  is  an  interesting  question  whether  other  forms  of  religion  as 
they  develop  into  the  fulness  of  Christianity  should  take  the 
Christian  name.  At  first  thought  it  would  seem  more  appro- 
priate that  those  who  have  received  the  highest  religious  truth 
through  the  instrumentality  of  Jesus  should  accept  the  name  of 
the  religion  of  which  he  is  the  founder.  Yet  the  question  is  after 
all  not  unlike  Peter's  question  when  he  asked,  "And  what  shall 
this  man  do  ?"2  You  will  remember  that  Jesus  called  Peter  back 
to  his  own  duty,  and  for  us  the  essential  question  is  as  to  our  own 

i  Page  364.  2  John,  xxi,  21. 


404  THE    QUALE   OF    CHRISTIANITY 

Christianity.  Certainly  the  name  is  far  less  important  than  the 
thing  itself,  and  no  reasoning  which  leaves  the  whole  matter  open 
and  free  to  others  ought  to  affect  our  own  relation  to  Christianity 
so  long  as  we  find  in  it  the  highest  inspiration.  There  are  two 
courses  either  of  which  is  a  priori  possible.  One  would  be  the  par- 
allel movement  of  the  various  religions  along  distinct  lines  but 
with  a  certain  harmony  between  them.  The  other  would  be 
the  centering  of  all  religions  in  a  unity  which  should  result  from 
influences  extending  from  the  single  point  at  which  the  highest 
spiritual  truth  was  first  attained.  No  doubt  the  result  in  the 
second  case  would  be  the  more  organic.  But  the  question  is  one 
which  we  can  only  wait  for  time  to  answer. 

What  is  the  quale  of  Christianity?1  What  is  it  that  makes 
Christianity  what  it  is?  Several  answers  have  been  given.  The 
first,  and  one  in  which  very  many  have  agreed,  is  that  the  essen- 
tial thing  is  an  act, — the  great  act  of  vicarious  sacrifice,  through 
which  Jesus  took  upon  himself  the  sin  of  the  world  and  suffered 
the  punishment  of  it.  The  second  answer  is  that  feeling  is  the 
essential  element,  not  feeling  in  the  sense  in  which  Schleiermacher 
uses  it,  but  the  enthusiasm  for  humanity  which  we  find  insisted 
upon  in  such  works  as  Ecce  Homo.  The  third  answer,  that  the 
distinguishing  feature  of  Christianity  is  the  belief  in  the  doctrine 
of  immortality,  is  given  by  many  who  no  longer  hold  to  the  first 
answer,  and  who  dwell  upon  this  in  the  search  for  some  element 
that  shall  mark  Christianity  as  distinct  from  all  other  religions. 
The  fourth  answer  insists  upon  the  ethical  teaching  of  Jesus,  and 
especially  upon  certain  scattered  commands  which,  it  is  claimed, 
are  higher  than  any  precepts  that  are  to  be  found  elsewhere. 

It  seems  to  me  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  these  answers  at 
any  length.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  a  certain  enthusiasm  for 
humanity  is  found  in  greater  or  less  degree  in  all  the  missionary 
religions,  as  in  Buddhism,  for  example.  The  belief  in  immortality 
is  almost  as  wide-spread  as  the  human  race  itself.  Some  would 
say  that  what  is  essential  to  Christianity  is  the  belief  in  immortal- 

1   C.  C.  Everett,  Essays  Theological  and  Literary,  "The  Distinctive  Mark  of 
Christianity." 


THE    QUALE   OF    CHRISTIANITY  405 

ity  as  based  upon  the  belief  in  the  resurrection  of  Jesus.  Their 
emphasis,  however,  is  quite  different  from  that  of  Paul;  Paul 
believed  in  immortality  before  his  conversion  to  Christianity; 
to  him  the  resurrection  of  Jesus  was  important  as  the  completion 
of  the  work  of  atonement.  Of  the  substance  of  the  first  answer 
I  have  already  spoken  at  length.1  As  regards  the  fourth  answer, 
there  is  hardly  any  precept  in  the  New  Testament  which  cannot 
be  matched  with  greater  or  less  completeness  with  maxims  from 
other  religions.  I  say  with  greater  or  less  completeness,  for  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  dogmatic  on  either  side.  All  that  I  wish  to  suggest 
is  that  the  discussion  may  easily  become  somewhat  petty  if  we  try 
to  take  this  and  that  precept  and  weigh  them  to  see  whether  one  is 
fully  equal  to  the  other. 

In  my  own  thought  the  specialty  of  Christianity  consists  in  its 
lack  of  specialty,  in  the  lifting  of  the  whole  plane  of  thought 
and  life.  Let  me  illustrate  this  in  the  different  elements  that  have 
been  emphasized  as  essential  in  the  answers  which  we  have  just 
considered.  According  to  the  first  answer  the  essential  element 
is  the  act  of  vicarious  sacrifice.  Now  if  the  conclusion  to  which 
we  came  in  our  discussion  of  the  Atonement  is  correct,  that  in  the 
Atonement  we  have  the  union  of  the  human  and  the  divine,  and 
the  beginning  of  a  new  and  diviner  life  upon  the  earth,  then  this 
act  precisely  corresponds  to  the  definition  of  the  special  character- 
istic of  Christianity  which  I  have  used, — the  lifting  of  the  whole 
plane  of  life.  For  it  is  life  in  its  completeness  which  manifests 
the  results  of  the  Atonement. 

The  element  which  was  emphasized  in  the  second  answer,  the 
enthusiasm  for  humanity,  lacks  definiteness  of  meaning  when 
it  is  taken  by  itself.  Such  enthusiasm  may  be  only  the  enthusi- 
asm for  what  appears  to  us  to  be  the  most  intelligent  animal  in  the 
world,  the  animal  that  can  accomplish  most  for  himself;  we  look 
upon  all  that  men  have  done  in  the  way  of  personal  advancement, 
and  the  advancement  of  civilization  if  you  will,  and  we  say,  "  How 
great  and  glorious  a  being  is  man!"  But  to  have  the  true  en- 
thusiasm for  humanity  we  must  have  the  true  ideal  of  humanity, 

i  Pages  301-323,  327-333. 


406  THE    QUALE   OF    CHRISTIANITY 

and  that  is  what  Christianity  presents  to  us.  Through  Chris- 
tianity we  recognize  all  that  is  highest  in  man's  nature,  and  our 
enthusiasm  for  humanity  thus  becomes  an  enthusiasm  for  man  as 
a  being  capable  of  the  highest  moral  and  spiritual  perfection. 
Here  again,  therefore,  we  find  that  the  specialty  involves  the 
absence  of  specialty.  It  involves  the  fulness  of  humanity  in  its 
highest  aspect,  the  fulness  of  the  spiritual  life  of  man. 

The  third  answer  insists  upon  the  doctrine  of  immortality  as  the 
distinguishing  mark  of  Christianity.  I  have  reminded  you  that 
this  belief  in  immortality  is  common  to  many  religions.  Yet, 
after  all,  how  different  it  is  in  Christian  thought  from  what  we 
find  it  elsewhere!  The  thought  of  immortality  with  the  Greeks 
and  Romans  was  helpful.  It  broke  down  to  some  extent  the  wall 
which  otherwise  would  have  shut  in  the  individual  spirit,  and  gave 
an  outlook  into  something  beyond.  But  except  for  such  rare 
moments  of  exaltation  as  came  now  and  then  into  the  thought 
of  a  Plato  or  a  Cicero,  it  remained  vague  and  negative  and  com- 
paratively barren.  In  other  religions  the  thought  of  immortality 
was  for  the  most  part  either  the  anticipation  of  a  sensuous  para- 
dise or,  as  among  the  Chinese,  the  maintenance  in  heaven  of  re- 
lations that  had  already  existed  upon  the  earth.  But  in  Chris- 
tianity the  thought  of  the  life  hereafter  is  lifted  at  the  same  time 
with  the  conception  of  the  truer  life  of  man  upon  the  earth.  The 
thought  of  the  infinite  contemplation  of  the  celestial  vision,  the 
thought  of  the  union  more  and  more  perfect  with  the  infinite 
divine  spirit,  the  thought  of  an  infinite  power  of  service — in  a  word 
all  that  development  of  the  thought  of  the  spiritual  life  hereafter 
which  follows  from  the  content  of  Christianity  as  it  is  recognized 
in  the  earthly  life — gives  to  the  belief  in  immortality  a  fulness 
and  meaning  such  as  are  found  nowhere  else.  Even  in  the  Parsee 
belief,  which  is  perhaps  the  highest  of  any  among  religions  other 
than  Christianity,  the  future  life  is  conceived  as  at  a  standstill; 
all  are  to  be  either  fifteen  years  of  age  or  forty  years,  either  in 
the  perfection  of  youth  or  in  the  perfection  of  manhood;  there 
is  little  place  for  aspiration  or  advance,  and  largely  because  of  the 
lack  of  that  mystical  element  which  in  Christianity  is  so  strong,  and 


THE    FIFTH    DEFINITION    OF   RELIGION  407 

which  furnishes  that  outlook  into  an  infinite  advance  in  the  higher 
life  which  characterizes  the  Christian  belief.  Thus  we  have  here 
still  another  illustration  of  the  way  in  which  any  one  element  of 
belief  is  enlarged  and  lifted  in  Christian  thought  through  the  ele- 
vation of  the  whole  plane  of  the  spiritual  life. 

It  is  the  same  when  we  turn  to  the  ethical  teaching  of  Jesus. 
There  has  been  something  humiliating  in  the  sort  of  strife  into 
which  men  have  entered  over  the  question  whether  the  precepts 
of  Jesus  are  or  are  not  higher  than  the  similar  teaching  to  be 
found  in  other  religions.  This  strife  has  been  pushed  so  far 
that  some  who  have  engaged  in  it  have  been  tempted  to  try,  on  the 
one  hand,  to  undervalue  the  teachings  of  other  religions,  and  then 
again,  on  the  other  hand,  to  detract  from  the  loftiness  of  the  pre- 
cepts of  Jesus.  From  time  to  time  something  like  a  sense  of  re- 
lief has  manifested  itself  on  the  one  side  or  on  the  other  when 
some  imperfection  has  been  discovered.  This  sort  of  partisan- 
ship which  enters  thus  into  the  discussion  of  the  loftiest  themes 
is  sometimes  disheartening.  Humanity  is  not  so  rich  that  it  can 
afford  to  do  anything  but  rejoice  over  whatever  can  be  found  in 
the  world  of  that  which  is  best  in  life.  We  need  not  ask  whether 
in  this  or  that  point  of  its  teaching  Christianity  is  or  is  not  equalled 
elsewhere.  Here  as  in  other  respects  it  is  the  completeness  of 
Christianity  that  is  its  glory,  and  we  cannot  help  seeing  for  our- 
selves that  in  this  completeness  it  is  unequalled. 

The  course  of  our  examination  has  been  marked  thus  far  by 
successive  definitions  of  religion.  Beginning  with  the  most  ab- 
stract and  inclusive  definition,1  we  have  passed  to  definitions 
which  were  more  typical  at  the  same  time  that  they  retained  in 
some  degree  the  inclusive  element  of  the  first  definition.2  We 
now  reach  the  fifth  of  these  definitions  by  introducing  the  element 
of  Christianity.  We  retain  the  breadth  of  the  base  that  we  have 
already  found  but  add  the  element  which  marks  the  highest  form 
that  religion  has  assumed.     It  is  like  the  definition  of  life  itself, 

i  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  51. 
2  The  Psychological  Elements,  pp.  88,  208.     Theism,  p.  55. 


408  THE    FIFTH    DEFINITION   OF   RELIGION 

which  must  be  such  at  the  outset  as  to  include  the  lowest  forms, 
but  gains  in  completeness  as  we  are  able  to  add  that  which  shall 
cover  higher  and  higher  developments  and  finally  the  culmina- 
tion in  humanity  as  the  highest  type  of  all.  According  to  this  fifth 
definition,  then,  religion  is  the  feeling  toward  a  spiritual 

PRESENCE  MANIFESTING  ITSELF  IN  TRUTH,  GOODNESS  AND 
BEAUTY,  ESPECIALLY  AS  ILLUSTRATED  IN  THE  LIFE  AND  TEACH- 
ING   OF  JESUS. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

REVELATION. — REVELATION   AS    INSPIRATION. — REVELATION   IN 
NATURE. 

Now  that  we  have  thus  recognized  the  fact  of  Christianity, 
we  have  further  to  recognize  certain  elements  which  distinguish 
it.  First  of  all,  then,  we  have  to  consider  Christianity  as  a  revealed 
religion. 

Revelation  involves  two  elements,  the  one  objective  and  the 
other  subjective.  The  first  of  these,  inspiration,  I  have  called 
the  objective  element,  because  it  indicates  the  objective  presence 
of  some  higher  power.  Faith,  the  second  of  the  two  elements, 
I  have  called  the  subjective  element,  because  faith  is  the  sub- 
jective condition  both  of  inspiration  itself  and  of  the  reception 
of  the  results  of  inspiration.  I  will  speak  first,  then,  of  inspira- 
tion, and  more  especially  of  inspiration  with  reference  to  the 
Bible.  Considering  the  matter  somewhat  externally  at  the  out- 
set, we  recognize  that  there  are  a  great  many  different  views  of 
inspiration,  ranging  from  the  strictly  mechanical  view  at  one 
extreme  to  what  may  be  called  the  vital  view  at  the  opposite 
extreme.  Of  the  views  that  are  more  or  less  mechanical  there 
is  first  of  all  the  theory  of  literal  inspiration,  according  to  which 
every  word  and  every  letter  of  the  Bible  is  inspired.  Then  there 
is  the  view  which  abandons  the  theory  of  literal  inspiration,  but 
insists  that  all  statements  of  fact  are  inspired  and  must  be  im- 
plicitly accepted.  Still  a  third  view  gives  up  this  second  the- 
ory, but  urges  that  all  the  statements  which  have  to  do  with  eth- 
ical or  religious  facts  are  to  be  accepted  as  true. 

I  do  not  propose  to  discuss  these  views  at  any  length.  So  far 
as  the  theory  of  literal  inspiration  is  concerned,  it  is  shattered, 
of  course,  by  any  imperfection  of  grammar  or  any  other  defect 
of  the  sort  that  may  occur  in  the  writings.     One  cannot  help 


410  REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION 

recalling  Emerson's  reply  to  the  poet  who  thought  himself 
"  divinely  inspired  " :  "  At  least  the  Spirit  would  use  good  gram- 
mar." As  regards  the  view  by  which  all  statements  of  fact  are 
to  be  accepted,  a  single  example  will  serve  as  well  as  a  thousand. 
In  his  denunciation  of  the  scribes  and  Pharisees  Jesus  is  repre- 
sented as  referring  to  the  murder  of  "Zachariah,  son  of  Bara- 
chiah"1  when  in  reality  it  was  another  Zachariah  who  was  mur- 
dered. Commentators  have  shown  considerable  ingenuity  in 
trying  to  meet  this  criticism,  but  I  think  that  all  fair-minded 
scholars  of  the  present  day  recognize  the  difficulty.  Of  course 
the  matter  is  in  itself  of  very  little  importance  and  would  not  be 
worth  mention  if  it  were  not  that  in  the  face  of  the  assumptions 
made  by  those  who  support  this  view  of  inspiration  the  slightest 
instance  to  the  contrary  becomes  important.  Finally,  as  opposed 
to  the  view  by  which  all  statements  are  to  be  accepted  which 
have  to  do  with  ethical  or  religious  facts,  we  have  the  impreca- 
tory psalms.  On  this  whole  question  Professor  Ladd's  Doc- 
trine of  the  Sacred  Scriptures  is  of  great  importance,  and  Lee's 
Inspiration  of  Holy  Scripture  is  a  wholesome  book. 

But  suppose  that  such  contradictory  instances  as  these  to 
which  I  have  referred  did  not  exist.  Even  then  how  could  abso- 
lute inerrancy  be  proved  ?  Suppose,  for  example,  that  we  rec- 
ognize the  New  Testament  writers  as  infallible.  How  do  we 
know  that  we  have  their  exact  words  ?  We  can  only  trust  to 
the  efforts  of  the  scholars,  and  how  almost  fearfully  important 
their  minute  and  careful  study  becomes,  if  the  result  is  to  deter- 
mine our  acceptance  or  rejection  of  that  which  claims  to  be  some 
definite  and  final  statement  of  divine  truth.  Then  there  is  the 
question  of  interpretation.  How  far  are  we  to  read  between 
the  lines  ?  And  what  is  figurative,  and  what  is  literal  ?  Are 
we  to  insist  with  the  Romanist  that  the  words,  "this  is  my  body,"2 
are  to  be  accepted  literally,  or  shall  we  agree  with  the  Protestant 
that  they  are  figurative  ? 

Furthermore,  is  there  any  reason  why  we  should  assume  for 
the  Bible  an  infallible  authority?     The  Bible  itself  makes   no 

i  Matthew,  xxiii,  35.  2  Matthew,  xxvi,  27. 


REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION  411 

such  claim.  A  famous  passage  in  the  Second  Epistle  to  Timothy 
has  often  been  quoted  in  this  connection.  But  the  revised  trans- 
lation destroys  the  point  of  the  application,  and  in  any  case  the 
passage  of  course  refers  only  to  the  Old  Testament  writings. 
Speakers  and  writers  do  indeed  claim  divine  authority,  but  it 
if  for  what  they  say  and  not  for  themselves.  I  have  had  occasion 
before 2  to  refer  to  the  passage  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Galatians 
in  which  Paul  prays  that  whoever  preaches  a  different  gospel 
from  that  which  he  had  preached  may  be  anathema,3  and  we 
have  seen  that  what  he  is  here  asserting  is  not  some  dogma  but 
the  principle  of  freedom.  In  this  passage  he  is  not  claiming 
any  formal  authority  and  still  less  infallibility ;  he  is  simply  sure 
in  regard  to  what  he  is  saying.  There  is  a  great  difference 
between  a  man's  confidence  in  the  truth  of  what  he  says  and  the 
claim  that  what  he  says  shall  be  accepted  as  true  without  question. 
It  is  sometimes  said  that  the  Bible  acquaints  us  with  facts  of 
which  otherwise  we  should  have  had  no  knowledge.  But  we 
have  no  test  by  which  we  can  be  assured  that  these  facts  might 
not  have  become  known  through  other  channels.  So  we  come 
at  last  simply  to  the  recognition  of  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of 
the  result  itself,  as  something  that  is  nowhere  else  equalled.  But 
however  helpful  this  may  be  to  the  individual,  it  does  not  serve 
as  a  basis  for  dogmatic  assertion.  There  is  a  highest  every- 
where, but  who  knows  the  limit  to  what  human  powers  them- 
selves may  attain.  And  then  at  the  heart  of  all  we  reach  the 
test  of  spiritual  recognition.  Here  is  something  that  is  really 
vital.  But  it  refers  to  the  content  of  inspiration  and  not  to  its 
form.  It  can  hardly  be  used  dogmatically.  For  there  is  a  differ- 
ence in  vision,  and  if  you  do  not  see  what  I  see,  I  may  say  that 
it  is  because  you  are  carnal,  or  you  may  make  a  similar  answer 
to  me  if  it  is  I  who  cannot  see  what  you  see.  Therefore  the  rec- 
ognition which  is  to  serve  as  a  test  must  be  the  individual  recogni- 
tion of  whatever  person  has  reached  the  highest  spiritual  develop- 
ment, if  we  can  determine  who  that  person  is.  That  is  to  say,  if 
the  person  of  highest  spiritual  development  in  the  period  since  the 

i  II  Timothy,  iii,  16.  2  Page  398.  s  Galatians,  i,  9. 


412  REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION 

beginnings  of  Christianity  should  say  that  he  finds  in  Christianity 
the  loftiest  teaching  that  the  world  has  seen,  his  authority  would 
outweigh  that  of  all  other  persons.  But  then  we  should  have 
to  apply  to  him  the  very  same  test  that  we  are  applying  to  this 
whole  question.  How  are  we  to  know  that  his  spiritual  develop- 
ment is  the  highest  ?  Here  are  people  at  the  present  day  who 
tell  us  that  what  we  call  spiritual  development  is  a  mistake,  that 
we  cannot  get  behind  phenomena,  or  cannot  rise  above  the  world 
of  matter,  and  that  those  who  claim  any  relation  to  the  infinite 
and  to  a  spiritual  universe  are  mere  dreamers.  What  can  we  say 
to  such  people  that  will  convince  them  of  error?  If  we  appeal 
to  the  magnificent  content  of  the  New  Testament  teaching  itself, 
or  to  the  testimony  which  has  been  borne  to  that  teaching  by 
the  most  spiritual-minded  of  all  later  times,  his  answer  will  remain 
the  same;  he  will  say  as  before,  that  we  in  our  day  have  passed 
beyond  all  this,  and  have  reached  the  final  epoch  of  more  positive 
science. 

Yet,  after  all,  this  is  the  only  result  that  we  can  reach.  This 
method  is  the  one  that  we  have  used  before,  and  the  one  which 
in  all  the  higher  relations  of  the  soul  we  cannot  escape  using. 
How  are  we  to  prove  the  supremacy  of  Shakespeare,  or  Raphael, 
or  Angelo  ?  We  cannot  prove  it.  We  can  only  point  to  a  pict- 
ure and  say,  "This  is  beautiful."  If  the  man  cannot  see  its 
beauty  for  himself  and  has  no  confidence  in  our  opinion,  what 
are  we  going  to  do  about  it  ?  The  highest  life,  whether  in  rela- 
tion to  truth  or  goodness  or  beauty,  or  to  religion  itself,  must  be 
dogmatic.  It  must  rest  finally  in  a  position  which  cannot  be 
proved  but  can  only  be  spiritually  discerned.  Even  in  logic 
some  basis  has  to  be  assumed.  If  a  person  accepts  your  funda- 
mental proposition,  then  you  can  use  your  logic  to  show  that 
some  other  statement  is  in  accord  with  it,  but  if  he  does  not  accept 
the  fundamental  proposition,  how  are  you  to  prove  to  him  the 
truth  of  your  result  ?  The  fact  is,  doubtless  for  good,  that  we 
are  left  without  those  convenient  external  methods,  those  visible 
means  of  proof,  which  Ave  sometimes  think  might  be  so  helpful. 
In  our  garden  we  may  bind  the  branches  of  our  vine  to  trellises 


REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION  413 

and  train  it  just  where  it  should  go.  But  there  is  no  such  trel- 
lis for  the  spiritual  life,  no  such  support  or  bondage  for  its 
branches.  The  soul  is  placed  in  the  world,  it  is  surrounded  by 
the  highest  influences,  it  has  open  to  it  the  inspiration  of  the 
highest  life,  and  it  is  told  to  grow.  If  it  follows  its  highest  nature, 
it  does  grow,  until  at  last  it  recognizes  more  and  more  perfectly 
the  ideals  that  are  set  before  it,  and  is  able  to  say,  "  This  is  divine ! 
This  is  the  true  life!"  But  a  result  like  this  cannot  be  proved 
to  another  except  as  his  development  is  so  far  similar  that  he 
can  accept  the  principles  on  which  it  rests.  This  might  seem 
to  leave  the  whole  matter  hopeless.  But  we  have  to  recognize 
the  fact  that  no  normal  nature  is  wholly  without  these  higher 
elements,  and  therefore  an  appeal  can  be  made  to  every  nature 
in  the  confidence  that  either  awake  or  asleep  some  element  is 
there  which  can  respond. 

If  now  we  are  to  attempt  a  positive  statement  of  the  doctrine 
of  inspiration,  we  must  begin  with  that  divine  principle  which 
we  have  already  recognized  as  working  in  the  world  from  the 
beginning,  at  first  unconscious  of  itself,  but  gaining  in  definite- 
ness  and  strength  until  at  last  it  comes  to  recognize  itself,  and 
enters  into  communion  with  the  absolute  divine  life  from  which 
it  came.  Meanwhile  that  absolute  divine  life  has  been  an  ever- 
present  factor  in  the  process  of  development,  drawing  the  human 
soul  nearer  to  itself  and  responding  to  its  aspiration.  The  divine 
principle  in  the  world  has  not  been  left  solitary  like  an  orphan, 
parentless  and  alone,  but  rather  has  developed  its  strength  like 
the  child  who  grows  in  the  presence  and  support  of  its  father's 
love.  How  or  why  the  Jewish  people  should  have  come  to  be 
the  stalk  on  which  the  consummate  flower  of  Christianity  was  to 
blossom  is  not  for  us  to  say.  We  can  only  recognize  the  fact. 
All  religions  are  manifestations  of  the  divine  power  and  life. 
No  one  of  them  can  be  considered  purely  human,  however  dim 
and  uncertain  the  divine  element  may  appear.  But  in  the  com- 
parative study  of  religions  one  cannot  help  noticing  how  many 
religions,  after  they  have  reached  a  certain  height,  begin  to 
decline.     The  Chinese  religion  is  already  at  its  highest  when  it 


414  REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION 

first  becomes  known  to  us  historically  and  then  becomes  more 
and  more  unspiritualized.  Twice  the  Vedic  religion  seems  to 
be  on  the  very  point  of  becoming  a  complete  religion ;  but  after 
Brahma  there  is  the  return  to  Indra  again,  and  the  later  theism 
with  its  utterances  of  lofty  spiritual  promise  sinks  into  pantheism. 
In  the  Hebrew  religion,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  development 
up  to  the  point  at  which  it  blossoms  into  the  larger  thought  of 
Jesus. 

Two  elements  declared  themselves  at  a  comparatively  early 
period  in  the  history  of  the  Hebrew  religion  which,  although  at 
first  they  sustained  themselves  with  difficulty,  were  of  the  great- 
est advantage  in  all  the  later  development, — the  recognition  of 
monotheism,  and  the  fact  that  all  images  were  forbidden.  Here 
is  a  beginning  from  which  an  indefinite  advance  becomes  pos- 
sible; it  is  for  religion  what  the  beginning  of  the  power  to  think 
in  concepts  is  for  human  life.  Take  for  instance  the  Hebrew 
psalms.  At  first  sight  some  of  the  Assyrian  psalms  seem  in  their 
form  to  suggest  a  comparison  with  them.  But  on  examination 
we  find  that  the  Assyrian  psalms  bring  us  into  a  region  of  poly- 
theism, together  with  physical  images  of  the  gods,  whereas  the 
Hebrew  psalms,  in  spite  of  certain  false  conceptions  that  are 
contained  in  them,  have  on  the  whole  a  universal  character  which 
fits  them  for  use  as  the  expression  of  a  higher  spiritual  develop- 
ment. The  same  sort  of  difficulty  that  we  meet  in  the  Assyrian 
psalms  presented  itself  to  the  Greek  philosophers  in  their  attempts 
to  lift  the  popular  thought  to  their  own  higher  standards;  thus 
the  term  "  Zeus  "  was  so  entangled  with  polytheistic  and  mytholo- 
gical ideas  that  it  could  hardly  be  understood  aright  by  the  com- 
mon people  when  used  in  any  higher  relation. 

It  may  seem  as  though  in  some  respects  the  Mazdean  religion 
would  have  been  a  more  natural  channel  than  the  Hebrew  by 
which  the  spiritual  principle  in  the  world  should  reach  its  full 
manifestation.  But  in  the  Hebrew  religion  there  are  glimpses 
of  a  tenderness  of  relation  which  are  hardly  to  be  found  in  the 
Mazdean  religion,  the  beginning  of  the  recognition  of  the  relation 
of  the  earthly  child  to  its  heavenly  father.     This  may  be  said, 


REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION  415 

however, — that  it  is  one  of  the  striking  facts  of  history  that  these 
two  religions,  the  Hebrew  and  the  Mazdean,  with  an  insight 
into  the  being  of  God  and  the  divine  holiness  such  as  we  find 
nowehere  else,  should  have  to  a  certain  extent  coalesced  in  the 
production  of  Christianity.  I  know  very  well  that  "  coalescence  " 
may  be  too  strong  a  term.  Still  some  of  us  have  seen  1  how  the 
Mazdean  religion,  more  than  any  other  element  outside  the 
Hebrew  religion,  contributed  to  this  result  that  we  are  consider- 
ing. So  that  it  may  at  least  be  said  that  in  Christianity  as  it 
originally  appeared  we  have  the  results  of  the  two  best  stocks, 
the  two  highest  forms  of  religious  development.  Throughout 
its  history  Christianity  has  received  contributions  from  the  most 
complete  thought  of  other  peoples ;  Greek  philosophy  and  Roman 
polity  have  had  each  a  part  in  its  inner  and  outer  development. 
Yet,  when  all  is  said,  the  Hebrew  religion  must  still  be  consid- 
ered as  in  a  very  special  sense  the  source  of  Christianity.  What- 
ever the  help  that  came  from  other  religions,  it  was  chiefly  as  an 
outgrowth  of  all  that  had  preceded  in  the  Hebrew  religion  that 
the  final  blossoming  came. 

Now  the  Old  Testament  is  the  history  of  the  growth  of  the 
Hebrew  people  and  the  Hebrew  religion.  Its  great  power  consists 
in  these  two  facts,  that  it  gives  us  not  infrequent  glimpses  of  the 
higher  spiritual  truth,  and  that  we  have  in  it  the  story  of  the 
development  of  a  national  life  which  was  finally  to  result  in  the 
most  complete  form  of  religious  expression.  We  see,  therefore, 
how  it  is  possible  for  those  who  recognize  both  the  presence  of 
errors  in  the  Old  Testament  and  the  miscellaneous  character  of 
its  contents  still  to  hold  that  in  a  very  special  degree  and  manner 
it  is  inspired.  Indeed,  those  who  take  this  view  would  say  that 
the  belief  in  the  absolute  inerrancy  of  the  Bible  often  blinds  one 
to  what  is  strongest  and  most  beautiful  in  some  of  the  writings 
that  are  contained  in  it;  thus  the  Book  of  Jonah  now  too 
often  suggests  a  smile  when  it  ought  to  call  forth  only  admira- 
tion. 

When  we  include  the  New  Testament  and  consider  the  Bible 

1  In  Dr.  Everett's  course  in  the  comparative  study  of  religions. 


416  REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION 

as  a  whole,  I  may  repeat  what  I  said  before  in  a  similar  con- 
nection,1 namely,  that  the  first  utterance  of  a  great  intuitive  truth 
has  a  power  far  greater  than  that  of  any  truth  which  is  based  on 
demonstration.  Perhaps  you  remember  the  counsel  that  was 
given  a  judge,  never  to  offer  reasons  for  his  decisions,  because  while 
the  decisions  would  very  likely  be  right  the  reasons  would  prob- 
ably be  wrong !  This  is  eminently  the  case  with  all  higher  results 
as  we  find  them  declared  in  history.  Where  men  have  been  given 
sublime  insights,  the  arguments  by  which  they  attempt  to  sup- 
port them  as  a  rule  soon  become  inadequate,  whereas  the  insights 
themselves  still  maintain  their  power  over  the  world.  Almost 
every  great  system  of  thought  has  left  an  impression  of  this  kind, 
the  results  of  some  profound  insight,  while  the  technicality  of  the 
philosophy  has  become  obsolete.  Thus  the  systems  of  both  Kant 
and  Hegel  have  a  power  far  beyond  any  that  either  might  possess 
through  the  apprehension  of  its  technicalities;  each  has  intro- 
duced a  new  point  of  view,  a  new  aspect  of  truth,  which  is  to  a 
large  extent  independent  of  the  special  form  that  it  has  assumed 
in  the  development  of  the  system. 

Furthermore  a  book,  or  a  collection  of  books,  which  is  thus 
constituted,  which  contains  teachings  in  which  the  highest  spiritual 
truth  is  presented  under  an  intuitive  form,  will  gain  in  sacredness 
with  use.  As  each  generation  employs  certain  forms  of  speech  as 
sacred,  those  forms  are  given  a  new  sanctity.  The  forms  of 
speech  that  we  have  heard  in  our  childhood  have  a  power  which 
very  few  that  are  acquired  later  can  ever  have,  and  this  power 
only  increases  as  we  recognize  the  associations  which  all  through 
a  long  past  have  been  gathering  about  these  same  forms  of  speech. 
Take  the  Psalms,  for  instance.  They  have  their  original  sanctity, 
and  they  have  that  added  sanctity  which  comes  from  their  use 
through  long  ages  in  the  most  exalted  and  most  profound  mo- 
ments both  of  individual  and  of  national  life.  In  reading  that 
passage  in  the  book  of  The  Revelation  in  which  the  golden  vials 
or  bowls  full  of  incense  are  spoken  of,  "which  are  the  prayers 
of  the  saints,"2  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  certain  of  the  more 

1  Page  353.  2  Revelation,  v,  9. 


REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION  417 

sacred  psalms  might  very  well  figure  as  these  golden  bowls,  so 
often  have  they  been  the  vessels  that  have  carried  the  prayers 
of  the  saints  to  heaven,  and  so  continually  has  new  fragrance 
been  gathered  to  them  as  to  so  many  censers  with  every  added 
generation.  What  is  true  of  the  Psalms  is  similarly  true  in  greater 
or  less  degree  of  the  Bible  generally.  We  find  in  it  the  elements 
of  our  religion  presented  in  a  form  which  is  not  absolutely  perfect 
or  absolutely  free  from  admixture  with  foreign  elements,  but  is 
such  as  to  fit  them  for  universal  use;  and  to  the  original  power 
of  the  various  writings  themselves  is  added  the  element  of  long 
association. 

There  are  four  views  that  may  be  held  in  regard  to  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  Bible  in  general.  According  to  the  first,  the  Bible  is 
the  only  book  that  is  to  be  regarded  as  inspired.  This  is  the  view 
which,  more  or  less  clearly  held,  has  been  most  common  in  the 
history  of  the  Church.  "  Inspired  writers  "  are  the  writers  of  the 
different  portions  of  the  Bible  as  compared  with  all  other  writers. 
The  most  secular  passages  of  the  Bible  are  "  inspired,"  the  most 
spiritual  utterances  of  men  whose  words  are  not  recorded  in  the 
Bible  are  "uninspired."  If  a  certain  kind  of  inspiration  is 
granted  to  other  writings,  yet  the  inspiration  of  the  Bible  is  of  so 
different  a  sort  that  it  is  still  regarded  as  par  excellence  the  one 
inspired  book.  This  view  may  be  productive  of  much  good. 
It  is  a  great  point  gained  to  recognize  a  single  book  as  inspired, 
or  even  a  single  sentence,  provided  that  sentence  is  the  utterance 
of  some  lofty  truth.  For  there  is  here  at  least  a  starting-point 
for  a  conception  of  God  as  not  only  manifested  from  without 
but  as  speaking  to  us  from  within.  But  the  view  has  its  disad- 
vantages. There  is  first  of  all  the  danger  in  thus  exalting  the 
thought  of  the  Bible  writers,  that  our  estimate  of  other  thought 
may  be  lowered.  It  is  like  that  regard  for  the  Sabbath  which 
causes  all  other  days  to  be  considered  profane.  But  the  sanctity 
of  the  seventh  day  should  be  of  a  sort  that  would  make  all  days 
more  sacred,  and  the  conception  that  we  have  of  the  inspiration 
of  the  Bible  should  lift  rather  than  degrade  our  estimate  of  other 
literature.     On  the  other  hand,  there  is  also  the  danger  in  this 


418  REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION 

view  that  the  lower  standards  found  in  certain  portions  may 
become  standards  for  the  whole  of  life.  Thus  the  Puritans,  in 
dealing  with  those  whom  they  considered  heretics,  applied  the 
stern  maxims  of  the  Old  Testament  against  Gentiles  to  the  cir- 
cumstances of  their  own  times,  while  later  on  the  polygamous 
ideas  of  the  Mormons  found  a  precedent  in  the  practice  of  the 
patriarchs,  and  slaveholding  in  customs  taken  for  granted  by  the 
writers  of  the  New  Testament. 

Yet  if  there  are  dangers  in  this  view  as  compared  with  a  larger 
and  freer  conception,  it  is  infinitely  truer  and  higher  than  the 
view  which  finds  no  inspiration  at  all  in  the  world,  either  in  the 
Bible  or  in  anything  else;  one  sacred  book,  or  one  sacred  day, 
is  infinitely  better  than  none.  This  second  view  would  leave  the 
world  wholly  apart  from  the  life  of  God.  In  the  controversies 
of  our  day  this  aspect  of  the  case  is  sometimes  overlooked,  and  the 
assumption  of  the  special  inspiration  of  the  Bible  is  regarded  as 
though  it  were  in  itself  an  evil,  whereas,  broadly  considered,  it 
is  in  itself  a  good. 

At  the  other  extreme  from  the  view  that  recognizes  no  inspira- 
tion anywhere  is  the  view  which  finds  equal  inspiration  every- 
where, in  all  kinds  of  life;  Shakespeare  and  Paul  are  equally 
inspired,  all  human  life  is  divine,  every  occupation  is  holy.  My 
statement  of  this  view  may  seem  extravagant,  but  I  think  I  have 
not  exaggerated  a  fashion  of  speech  with  which  we  all  are  more  or 
less  familiar.  One  can  only  say  of  this  view  that  if  it  is  seriously 
held  it  contradicts  our  common  sense.  We  know  very  well  that 
some  occupations  are  unholy,  and  there  is  much  honorable  busi- 
ness which  still  is  not  holy.  There  is  of  course  a  certain  holiness 
in  honesty  and  care  and  accuracy,  but  there  is  a  higher  holiness  in 
the  devotion  to  some  noble  aim,  in  love,  in  philanthropy.  The 
sort  of  holiness  which  those  who  hold  this  view  would  have  us 
find  everywhere  must  be  regarded  as  a  possibility  rather  than  as 
actually  existing.  It  is  true  that  there  is  nothing  which  is  in  itself 
right  that  may  not  be  done  in  the  highest  spirit,  but  to  say  this  is 
not  at  all  the  same  as  to  say  that  all  life  is  holy.  It  is  a  glorious 
thing  for  men  to  feel  that  their  lives  open  upon  the  highest,  but  it 


REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION  419 

is  perilous  to  make  men  suppose  that  their  lives  are  already  at 
their  highest. 

Furthermore,  while  the  divine  life  does  manifest  itself  every- 
where, there  is  a  difference  of  nature  between  the  kinds  of  mani- 
festation. Here  we  come  to  the  fourth  view  of  inspiration.  All 
forms  of  life,  both  active  and  intellectual,  result  from  a  certain  kind 
of  inspiration.  But  that  which  inspires  them  is  not  necessarily 
what  we  know  as  the  holy  spirit;  the  inspiration  that  comes  from 
the  consciousness  of  one's  relation  to  God  is  of  a  very  different  kind. 
Grant  that  Shakespeare  was  as  much  inspired  as  Paul  in  degree. 
His  inspiration  was  still  wholly  different  in  kind,  and  between  the 
two  kinds  there  can  be  no  comparison.  For  the  inspiration 
through  which  utterance  is  given  to  life  itself  cannot  be  reduced 
to  a  level  with  the  inspiration  by  which  life  is  only  pictured,  how- 
ever perfect  the  picture  may  be.  Shakespeare  gives  us  an  image 
of  the  world,  and  we  rejoice  in  the  picture;  he  creates  a  new 
world,  and  we  delight  in  his  creation.  Yet  except  as  the  char- 
acters whom  he  depicts  have  more  wit  and  genius  than  the  men 
and  women  whom  we  ordinarily  meet,  the  world  that  he  gives  us 
is  like  that  which  we  see  every  day.  Therein  lies  its  glory.  But 
Paul  introduces  into  the  world  a  power  that  is  to  transform  it; 
he  brings  us  into  direct  relation  with  the  ethical  and  spiritual 
nature  of  God  and  man. 

Of  the  Bible  in  relation  to  other  literature  we  may  say  that  it 
embodies  the  highest  expression  of  religious  faith  that  has  been 
reached  independently,  that  is,  without  the  aid  of  the  Bible  itself. 
The  world  at  large  obtains  its  knowledge  of  the  scriptures  of  other 
religions  by  selection,  but  the  complete  Bible  is  in  every  man's 
hand.  Thus  the  best  of  other  sacred  literature  is  set  over  against 
the  Bible  as  a  whole.  But  to  compare  other  scriptures  with  the 
Bible  in  this  way  is  like  comparing  a  glass  of  filtered  water  with 
the  natural  stream  that  flows  by  our  door.  Either  all  should  be 
considered  in  their  entirety,  or  else  the  comparison  should  be 
between  selections  made  similarly  from  all.  No  absolute  distinc- 
tion can  be  made  between  the  inspiration  of  the  Bible  and  the 
inspiration  of  other  sacred  books  except  this  distinction  of  which 


420  REVELATION    AS    INSPIRATION 

I  have  just  spoken.  We  find  in  the  Bible  that  form  of  inspiration 
which  has  resulted  in  lives  of  the  highest  spiritual  nature  and  in 
the  presentation  of  a  religious  ideal  that  can  never  be  surpassed. 
If  this  culmination  of  religious  truth  and  life  in  the  Bible  is  what 
is  meant  by  perfect  or  absolute  inspiration,  the  term  may  be  used, 
though  only  at  the  risk  that  its  meaning  maybe  understood  in  some 
different  sense.  If  we  ask  ourselves  how  all  this  applies  to  the 
teaching  of  Jesus  himself,  our  answer  has  to  be  of  a  similar  kind. 
In  the  life  and  teachings  of  Jesus  is  found  the  culmination  of  that 
general  religious  life  the  development  of  which  is  embodied  in  the 
Bible. 

To  any  question  as  to  the  laws  of  inspiration  it  is  hazardous 
to  reply.  So  far  as  it  applies  to  the  spiritual  life  Jesus  compares 
it  to  the  wind.  "The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth."1  The 
process  by  which  the  spirit  manifests  itself  is  incalculable;  it  is 
impossible  to  predict  what  the  nature  of  its  manifestation  may  be, 
or  when  or  where  it  will  take  place.  We  can  only  say  with  Emer- 
son that 

"  There  are  open  hours 

When  the  God's  will  sallies  free 

And  the  dull  idiot  might  see."  2 

There  are  certain  students  of  history  of  the  present  day  who  under- 
take to  explain  all  these  matters.  They  attempt  to  construct  the 
hero  or  the  genius  out  of  the  common  elements  of  his  time, 
and  they  make  of  this  common  clay  a  very  good  image.  All  that 
is  missing  is  the  inspiration  which  made  the  great  thinker  or  the 
great  poet  or  the  great  leader  just  what  he  was.  For  there  is  the 
inspiration  of  genius,  as  there  is  the  inspiration  of  the  spiritual 
life,  and  they  are  akin  in  this,  that  each  follows  its  own  laws. 
The  wind  does  indeed  blow  "where  it  listeth."  Yet  the  wind 
has  its  laws ;  there  is  nothing  that  is  more  regular.  Of  the  nature 
of  those  laws  we  know  little;  the  meteorology  of  the  winds  is 
hardly  yet  a  science.  But  if  we  are  so  slow  to  comprehend  this 
meteorology  of  the  earth,  how  shall  we  understand  the  meteorology 
of  the  spiritual  life? 

1  John,  iii,  8.  2  Merlin. 


REVELATION    IN    NATURE  421 

Back  of  all  inspiration,  however,  is  revelation.  What  is  the 
revelation  of  God  ?  Where  are  we  to  find  it  ?  What  does  it 
mean  ?  The  universe  is  the  revelation  of  God.  Spencer  speaks 
of  the  universe  as  the  manifestation  of  the  Unknowable.  But 
a  manifestation  which  leaves  that  which  is  to  be  manifested  un- 
known and  unknowable  is  no  manifestation.  A  power  that  is  un- 
knowable can  be  only  that  power  in  its  abstraction,  apart  from 
the  universe.  A  manifestation  of  the  power  in  the  universe 
must  be  a  revelation  of  it.  It  is  thus  that  God  is  revealed  through 
the  manifestation  of  him  in  the  universe.  The  complete  reve- 
lation of  him  would  be  the  completed  universe,  quantitatively, 
organically,  spiritually.  Everything  is  in  some  sense  a  manifesta- 
tion and  therefore  a  revelation  of  God,  but  each  thing  by  itself 
is  more  or  less  unintelligible  and  misleading.  For  revelation  does 
not  exist  outside  of  experience,  and  for  a  complete  revelation  there 
must  be  a  complete  experience.  If  we  take  evil  by  itself  we  can 
find  in  it  no  revelation  of  the  divine,  but  in  the  universe  as  a  whole 
evil  is  seen  to  be  a  part  in  the  complete  manifestation,  the  absolute 
revelation. 

There  are  stages  or  concentric  circles  in  this  revelation,  each  of 
which  is  true  so  far  as  it  goes.  Each  sphere  is  partial,  and  that 
which  is  incidental  to  it  may  mislead,  but  so  far  as  the  sphere  goes 
it  is  true.  A  man's  life  has  spheres  which  may  be  contradictory 
to  one  another.  A  man  may  be  honest  in  business  but  dishonest 
in  politics,  or  he  may  shrink  in  horror  at  the  thought  of  shooting 
another  and  yet  join  without  hesitation  in  urging  on  a  war.  There 
are  inconsistencies  in  individual  human  life.  But  the  universe  is 
a  unit,  whose  circles  are  concentric,  corresponding  to  one  another 
and  forming  parts  in  one  great  whole.  Any  one  circle  considered 
by  itself  carries  with  it  a  certain  falsity,  not  because  it  is  itself 
untrue,  and  not  because  there  is  any  absolute  contradiction  between 
it  and  other  spheres,  but  because  the  truth  of  each  sphere  or  circle 
needs  for  its  completion  a  complemental  truth.  Take  for  instance 
the  revelation  of  God  in  nature.  It  has  been  dealt  with  hardly 
by  some  of  the  theologians,  who  have  pictured  "  the  God  of 
nature"  as  stern  and  pitiless,  presenting  in  contrast  the  infinite 


422  REVELATION    IN    NATURE 

tenderness  that  is  manifested  in  the  revelation  of  Jesus.  But 
the  aspect  of  revelation  which  is  offered  in  the  physical  world 
should  not  be  set  aside  or  misinterpreted.  Nature  by  itself  is 
not  to  be  regarded  as  in  any  complete  sense  a  revelation  of  God. 
It  is  first  of  all  a  revelation  of  God's  'power  as  it  is  manifested  in 
the  universe.  Suppose  that  a  rock  were  to  form  an  idea  of  the 
power  that  was  manifested  in  itself.  It  would  conceive  of  that 
power  as  a  mighty  rock;  it  would  see  God  in  its  own  image.  As 
conceived  thus  in  the  image  of  the  physical  world  in  general, 
God  would  be  a  being  uniform  and  without  caprice.  This  con- 
ception of  permanence  and  regularity  in  that  which  governs  the 
world  is  fundamental  in  our  thought  of  God.  "The  Lord  is 
my  rock," l  we  cry  with  the  Psalmist.  The  power  that  is  thus  con- 
ceived is  not  yet  a  power  working  for  good,  but  it  is  a  power  which 
can  be  absolutely  depended  upon,  and  this  element  of  trust- 
worthiness is  a  very  important  element  of  revelation.  The  disci- 
pline which  it  implies  is  essential  to  the  full  development  of  human 
life.  Men  outgrow  caprice  as  they  themselves  become  orderly 
through  living  in  an  orderly  universe,  and  this  discipline  of  orderli- 
ness leads  also  to  a  discipline  of  strength.  Men  adapt  themselves 
to  the  order  that  governs  the  world  about  them;  they  learn  that 
they  must  take  things  as  they  are  and  as  they  come,  they  learn 
that  they  must  reap  as  they  sow.  Thus  by  their  obedience  they 
learn  to  command,  and  strength  results  that  could  not  have  been 
found  in  a  capricious  universe.  The  revelation  in  nature,  there- 
fore, brings  trust,  and  the  discipline  of  orderliness,  and  the  disci- 
pline of  strength. 

Mill  has  suggested 2  that  goodness  cannot  be  manifested  in  the 
natural  world.  But  goodness  can  be  manifested  on  the  basis 
which  the  natural  world  affords.  For  good  is  first  that  by  which 
all  may  be  made  happy  and  secondly  that  by  which  all  may  be 
made  good,  that  by  which  character  may  be  developed.  The 
process  which  leads  to  the  second  result  is  not  always  that  which 
leads  to  the  first.  The  physical  world  is  unfeeling,  as  Mill  says; 
like  the  government  which  commands  on  its  own  behalf    that 

i  Psalm,  xviii,  2,  etc.  2  Essays  on  Religion,  "Nature." 


REVELATION    IN    NATURE  423 

which  may  not  be  permitted  to  the  individual,  the  physical  world 
maintains  itself  at  whatever  cost.  But  this  characteristic  of  the 
physical  world,  as  we  have  just  seen,  is  essential  to  the  best  disci- 
pline of  man,  and  thus  there  appears  in  it  an  element  of  goodness. 
The  revelation  of  God  is  imperfect  and  needs  that  which  shall 
complete  it,  but  so  far  as  it  goes  it  is  true. 

Still  another  element  appears  in  the  revelation  in  the  natural 
world,  the  element  of  beauty.  The  world  does  not  need  flowers 
or  animal  life  to  be  beautiful;  it  has  the  grandeur  of  the  sea  and 
the  mountains,  the  glory  of  the  sunsets.  There  may  be  sternness 
in  certain  elements,  but  there  is  harmony  between  them,  and  in 
this  harmony,  as  well  as  in  the  sublimity  of  the  physical  world, 
there  is  the  hint  of  the  higher  revelation  that  is  to  come.  Perhaps 
that  which  is  most  marked  in  the  physical  world  is  its  sublimity. 
It  is  an  element  that  is  too  easily  lost  out  of  the  religious  life.  We 
emphasize  certain  aspects  of  the  fatherhood  of  God  in  such  a 
way  that  we  blind  ourselves  to  other  elements  of  his  being.  The 
term  "fatherhood"  does  indeed  represent  that  which  is  highest 
in  our  conception  of  God,  but  it  should  be  regarded  as  a  culmina- 
tion of  his  whole  being  and  not  as  something  which  may  be  kept 
apart  by  itself.  When  it  is  kept  apart  it  too  often  carries  with  it 
a  thought  which  takes  from  the  nature  of  God  something  of  its 
strength.  In  attributing  to  God  love  as  that  which  marks  our 
highest  thought  of  him,  we  too  often  forget  the  sublimity  and  law 
and  absoluteness  by  which  love  should  be  accompanied.  Re- 
ligion should  bring  comfort,  but  it  should  also  strengthen,  and 
of  the  two  strength  is  more  important  than  comfort,  for  the  truest 
comfort  of  religion  is  in  the  strength  it  brings. 

The  next  stage  of  revelation  in  nature  is  life.  If  a  tree  were 
to  form  its  idea  of  God,  God  would  be  a  mighty  tree.  The  life  of 
the  physical  world,  apart  from  man,  would  not  reveal  God  as 
spirit;  the  physical  world  in  itself  declares  pantheism  and  not 
theism;  the  idea  of  the  tree  would  be  imperfect.  Yet  so  far 
as  the  idea  of  the  tree  went  it  would  be  true.  God  is  the  absolute 
life  of  the  world.  Here  enters  the  principle  of  teleology.  The 
materialistic  view  regards  the  world  as  something  static,  a  play 


424  REVELATION    IN    NATURE 

of  forces  forever  on  the  same  plane.  With  the  world  regarded 
as  a  great  organism  moving  toward  a  definite  result  there  comes 
the  revelation  of  life,  and  of  a  life  which  is  more  than  a  cycle  of 
change  in  which  there  is  no  progress;  this  life  that  is  manifested 
in  nature  is  like  a  spiral  in  which  any  point  as  it  swings  around 
the  circle  is  found  each  time  higher  than  it  was  before.  There 
is  no  dead  matter  any  longer.  Matter  is  living,  and  a  part  of  the 
universal  life.  Viewed  thus,  the  physical  world  is  a  true  revela- 
tion of  God  as  Life.  In  this  relation  also,  as  well  as  in  the  others 
that  we  have  considered,  the  revelation  brings  its  lesson  for  man. 
Man  must  first  of  all  live.  He  may  not  remain  stationary.  He 
must  share  in  this  progressive  life  of  the  world  and  enlarge  together 
with  it.  He  must  be  that  which  he  was  created  to  be,  a  living 
soul. 

In  the  contrasts  that  have  been  drawn  between  "nature"  and 
"grace,"  or  between  "nature"  and  "revelation,"  man  appears  to 
have  been  regarded  often  as  in  some  way  apart  from  both  nature 
and  revelation,  a  personality  to  whom  revelation  is  made.  It  is 
true  in  a  certain  sense  that  revelation  is  made  to  man.  Yet  man 
is  himself  a  part  of  nature,  and  the  most  important  part,  and  the 
revelation  that  is  in  him  must  not  be  neglected  for  the  revelation 
to  him.1  Man  is  the  culmination  of  all  the  processes  of  nature, 
and  to  speak  of  the  revelation  in  nature  and  leave  out  the  revela- 
tion in  human  nature  is  to  present  only  half  the  story.  For  how- 
ever important  are  the  permanence  and  regularity  in  the  forces 
of  nature  as  a  revelation  of  God,  however  important  may  be  the 
revelation  of  him  in  the  sublime  beauty  of  the  natural  world  and 
in  the  general  manifestation  of  life,  still  more  important  is  the 
revelation  in  the  sympathy  and  love  and  thought  and  aspiration 
and  consecration  of  human  life.  This  revelation  that  comes 
through  human  nature  is  higher  than  that  which  offers  itself  in 
the  physical  world  below  man,  simply  because  man  is  the  con- 
summation of  the  lower  processes.  If  we  are  to  find  anywhere 
the  key  to  the  mystery  of  life,  we  must  look  for  it  at  the  highest 
point  in  its  development  rather  than  at  the  lowest.     There  is  no 

1  C.  C.  Everett,  Essays  Theological  and  Literary,  "Reason  in  Religion." 


REVELATION    IN    NATURE  425 

greater  mistake  than  that  which  is  made  so  commonly  nowadays, 
of  explaining  everything  from  below  upward  instead  of  from 
above  downward.  It  is  as  though  we  were  to  explain  the  man 
by  the  infant,  and  say  of  man  that  he  is  an  advanced  infant  instead 
of  saying  of  the  infant  that  it  is  an  incipient  man.  Furthermore, 
the  revelation  in  man  is  also  higher  for  the  reason  that  it  is  clearer 
and  more  distinct.  While  we  receive  from  the  external  world 
the  fundamental  revelations  of  permanence  and  order  and  sub- 
limity which  are  essential  to  our  thought  of  God,  still  the  lower 
forces  of  nature  are  in  themselves  unconscious,  and  we  cannot  go 
behind  them  except  as  the  light  of  consciousness  enables  us. 
But  there  is  no  mistaking  the  voices  of  the  revelation  in  human 
nature,  those  voices  of  tenderness  and  love  and  consecration  to 
righteousness. 

It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  often  we  criticise  the  course  of 
things  in  nature  and  in  history  as  though  we  were  outside  of  them. 
We  need  to  ask  who  we  are,  or  what  it  is  in  us  that  makes  these 
criticisms.  Is  it  a  power,  a  life,  that  comes  from  some  system 
foreign  to  this  world  and  is  justified  in  criticising  what  it  finds  ? 
We  have  to  remember  that  the  nature  which  criticises  is  a  mani- 
festation of  the  nature  which  created  the  order  that  is  criticised.1 
There  is  but  one  controlling  principle  in  nature,  and  since  this 
power  to  criticise,  to  apply  to  outward  things  the  test  of  high  ideals, 
represents  the  loftiest  and  clearest  revelation  of  this  principle,  it 
is  more  to  be  accepted  than  any  other,  only  not  as  apart  from  out- 
ward processes  but  as  complemental  to  them. 

In  attempting  to  understand  the  universe  we  have  no  right  to 
assume  the  lower  and  leave  out  the  higher  aspects.  When  we 
consider  the  infinite  vastness  and  complexity  of  the  universe 
and  the  mystery  of  it,  perhaps  we  may  be  willing  to  admit  that 
the  glimpses  which  the  highest  forms  of  human  nature  afford 
of  a  wise  and  tender  power,  a  personal  interest,  working  through 
all,  are  as  much  as  we  could  reasonably  expect.  Who  can  under- 
stand and  explain  even  a  bit  of  intricate  machinery,  unless  he 
is  himself  a  trained  mechanic?     A  curious   illustration   of  the 

1  C.  C.  Everett,  Essays  Theological  and  Literary,  "Reason  in  Religion." 


426  REVELATION    IN    NATURE 

mistakes  that  are  made  in  this  direction  may  be  found  in  Spen- 
cer's First  Principles,1  where  he  is  criticising  the  theologians 
who  attempt  to  explain  the  processes  of  nature,  presumably 
with  special  reference  to  Martineau.  Compared  with  these 
critics,  Spencer  says,  Alfonso  of  Castile  was  modesty  itself.  It 
was  Alfonso,  you  will  remember,  who  said  that  if  he  had  been 
consulted  in  the  making  of  the  worlds  he  could  have  suggested 
a  much  better  way.  What  makes  the  illustration  so  interest- 
ing is  that  we  now  see  that  Alfonso  was  right.  He  was  applying 
an  ideal  of  reason  to  the  universe  as  it  was  then  understood,  and 
this  universe  did  not  conform  to  his  ideal;  with  its  system  of 
cycles  and  epicycles  it  was  too  complicated;  he  could  have  sug- 
gested a  much  simpler  system.  In  reality  it  was  not  the  universe 
itself  that  he  was  criticising,  but  the  imperfect  representation 
of  it  that  men  had  made.  He  applied  an  ideal  of  reason,  and 
the  ideal  justified  itself,  for  it  proved  to  be  that  in  accordance 
with  which  the  world  was  really  governed.  Now  this  is  what 
takes  place  whenever  we  apply  the  ideals  of  reason  to  the  history 
of  the  world,  and  especially  the  ideal  of  infinite  goodness.  At 
first  thought  such  attempts  may  seem  to  be  audacious  and  wholly 
out  of  place.  Yet  it  is  precisely  in  these  fundamental  ideals  of 
the  soul  that  we  have  the  highest  revelation  of  the  power  that 
is  working  in  and  through  all  things.  The  power  that  criticises 
is  of  the  power  that  creates  and  guides.  There  can  be  no  breach 
in  the  universe;  there  can  be  only  one  principle,  and  this  prin- 
ciple we  must  understand  as  we  can.  It  seems  to  me  that  from 
any  reasonable  point  of  view,  when  we  cannot  reconcile  the  ideal 
and  the  actual,  we  should  recognize  the  ideal  as  the  higher  man- 
ifestation and  use  it  in  the  attempt  to  explain  the  lower  mani- 
festation. Then  if  we  find  that  we  cannot  wholly  explain  the 
lower  by  the  higher,  and  must  lay  our  emphasis  upon  one  rather 
than  the  other,  let  that  emphasis  be  upon  the  higher. 

According  to  the  view  that  we  have  taken,  it  is  the  highest 
point  of  this  revelation  in  nature  that  is  found  in  Christianity 
and  the  Bible.     The  highest  type  of  Christianity  does   not  go 

1  First  Principles,  Part  I,  Chap.  V. 


REVELATION    IN    NATURE  427 

beyond  this  point,  and  if  we  look  more  closely  we  see  that  it 
cannot.  For  the  highest  revelation  of  Christianity  is  contained 
in  that  most  familiar  word  of  our  human  speech,  "father,"  and 
in  the  intensifying  of  the  human  instinct  of  love.  As  the  dis- 
covery of  Newton  lay  in  the  application  to  the  universe  of  a  law 
of  the  common  phenomena  of  life,  so  Christianity  takes  the  ex- 
perience of  human  nature  expressed  in  the  word  "father"  and 
applies  it  to  the  thought  of  God.  At  the  same  time  Jesus  does 
not  use  this  experience  in  its  crude  form.  In  this  sense  the  reve- 
lation in  his  life  and  teaching  was  greater  than  the  meaning 
which  any  words  that  he  used  brought  to  him.  For  they  could 
not  in  themselves  carry  a  meaning  beyond  the  experience  of  the 
past,  whereas  his  own  spiritual  life  was  beyond  that  experience. 
It  was  a  new  experience  that  he  added,  although  one  to  which 
the  experience  of  the  past  had  led  the  way. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

FAITH. — FAITH  A  FORM  OF  BELIEF. — ITS  POSTULATE  OF  GOD  AND 
IMMORTALITY. — HELPS  TO  FAITH. — DIFFICULTIES  IN  THE  WAY 
OF  FAITH. — THE  SUMMUM  BONUM. — PROVIDENCE  AS  THE 
OBJECT   OF   FAITH. 

Of  the  two  elements  involved  in  revelation 1  we  have  considered 
only  the  first,  the  element  of  inspiration.  The  second  element  is 
faith.  If  faith  is  not  absolutely  necessary  for  the  reception  of 
inspiration,  it  certainly  is  necessary  for  its  utilization,  for  inspira- 
tion would  come  and  go  without  result  unless  there  were  a  faith 
to  make  the  inspiration  a  principle  of  life.  The  world  "faith" 
is  used  in  two  senses,  the  one  complementary  to  the  other.  It 
means  on  the  one  hand  fidelity,  that  which  can  be  trusted,  and 
on  the  other  hand  confidence,  that  which  trusts,  confidence  imply- 
ing fidelity.  In  considering  the  place  of  faith  in  religion,  faith 
as  confidence,  or  trust,  is  the  more  fundamental.  For  not  only 
does  trust  imply  fidelity  in  that  which  is  trusted,  but  it  is  itself  a 
source  of  fidelity ;  one  can  hardly  be  faithful  to  any  principle  unless 
he  trusts  it;  if  he  is  faithful  to  his  word,  it  is  because  he  trusts 
the  divinity  of  truth.  In  our  present  discussion,  therefore,  we  may 
set  aside  the  use  of  the  term  in  its  first  sense,  now  that  we  have 
recognized  it.  There  is  a  use  common  in  theological  writings 
by  which  "faith"  represents  the  mystical  apprehension  or  ap- 
propriation to  one's  self  of  that  which  is  believed.  In  this  use  the 
word  tends  to  lose  any  definiteness  of  meaning  and  to  become 
synonymous  with  almost  the  whole  of  religion.  It  is  better  to 
hold  to  its  usual  distinct  meaning. 

Faith,  then,  is  a  certain  kind  of  belief.  It  is  a  specific  under  a 
generic  term.  Not  all  belief  is  faith,  but  faith  implies  some  de- 
gree of  belief.     But  what  is  belief?     Belief  is  that  which  holds 


FAITH    A    FORM    OF    BELIEF  429 

good  where  there  is  no  absolute  demonstration.  No  one  would 
say  that  he  believed  that  two  and  two  make  four.  That  is 
something  which  we  know,  and  where  knowledge  begins  belief 
stops.  There  is  of  course  a  sense  in  which  we  believe  that  two 
and  two  make  four,  but  in  ordinary  speech  we  do  not  use  the  term 
of  that  which  has  been  demonstrated.  Therefore  faith,  since  it 
is  a  form  of  belief,  exists  where  no  demonstration  has  been  pos- 
sible. But  as  a  specific  form  of  belief  it  implies  that  the  object 
of  belief  is  desirable.  Thus  we  may  speak  of  it  as  confidence  or 
trust.  It  is  "the  assurance  of"  (or  "the  giving  substance  to") 
"things  hoped  for."1 

It  is  very  important  to  recognize  both  of  these  elements  in  faith, 
that  which  it  has  in  common  with  all  belief,  and  that  which  dis- 
tinguishes it.  Otherwise  we  may  be  led  into  a  good  deal  of  dif- 
ficulty and  doubt.  Take,  for  instance,  religious  faith  generally. 
Faith  exists  where  there  is  no  demonstration.  But  precisely  here 
the  difficulty  enters  which  has  troubled  so  many  in  regard  to 
religious  faith.  Since  it  cannot  be  made  a  matter  of  demonstra- 
tion, they  say,  they  cannot  hold  to  it.  The  question  between 
religion  and  non-religion  thus  becomes  really  the  question  whether 
one  will  or  will  not  have  faith.  But  in  this  relation  the  term 
"faith"  has  been  used  to  cover  all  sorts  of  inconsistencies  and 
weaknesses.  The  believer  in  some  contradictory  dogma  or  some 
extravagant  assertion  of  fact  cries  out,  "You  must  have  faith." 
Properly  defined,  however,  faith  can  cover  first  of  all  only  that 
which  is  to  be  hoped  for.  Other  things  may  be  matters  of  belief 
but  not  of  faith.  Thus  one  may  believe  the  doctrine  of  total 
depravity ;  when  I  say  that  it  cannot  be  a  matter  of  faith,  I  do  not 
deny  the  truth  of  the  doctrine;  I  only  say  that  if  it  is  believed, 
faith  is  not  the  term  that  should  be  applied  to  it.  On  the  other 
hand  the  doctrine  of  human  perfectibility  would  be  a  matter  of 
faith,  as  that  which  is  above  all  things  desirable;  but  this  is  not 
to  say  that  the  doctrine  of  human  perfectibility  is  true,  but  only 
to  define  the  use  of  the  term  "faith."  Furthermore,  in  the  second 
place,  we  must  discard  as  far  as  possible,  in  relation  to  faith,  what- 
ever lies  outside  the  fundamental  elements  of  the  spiritual  life, 
i  Hebrews,  xi,  1. 


430  THE    POSTULATE    OF   FAITH 

The  difficulty  with  many  kinds  of  so-called  faith  is  that  they  are 
so  superficial;  they  have  nothing  to  do  with  confidence  in  the 
absoluteness  of  truth  and  goodness  and  beauty,  but  only  with 
this  or  that  man's  thought  or  act  or  assertion. 

I  have  said  that  faith  is  confidence  or  trust.  It  is  a  form  of 
loyalty.  A  man  has  faith  in  the  father  or  mother  whom  he  loves; 
if  a  charge  is  brought  against  them  he  indignantly  denies  it;  it 
may  be  that  he  cannot  disprove  it,  but  he  does  not  and  will  not 
believe  it;  his  faith  in  his  parents  cannot  justify  itself  by  dem- 
onstration, but  his  loyalty  goes  out  to  them  instinctively.  All 
such  faith  as  this  that  is  based  upon  our  conception  of  an  indi- 
vidual life  may  be  deceived,  and  one  of  the  most  terrible  things 
that  can  happen  to  a  young  man  is  to  discover  that  the  father  or 
mother  whom  he  has  venerated  as  the  incarnation  of  virtue  is 
soiled  with  sin  and  is  not  worthy  of  his  reverence.  Absolute 
faith  is  that  which  goes  behind  all  individual  and  finite  forms. 
When  one  finds  that  his  faith,  his  confidence,  in  human  life  is 
disappointing  him,  there  still  remains  for  him  the  motherhood  of 
nature,  the  fatherhood  of  God.  The  faith  which  manifests  itself 
in  these  special  forms,  toward  special  individuals,  simply  indicates 
the  tendency  in  the  human  mind  to  an  absolute  faith  which  reaches 
out  beyond  all  individual  and  finite  things  and  affirms  that  there  is 
in  the  universe  something  that  is  worthy  of  confidence.  Of 
course  the  impulse  to  trust  individuals  is  desirable.  The  cynic 
who  takes  it  for  granted  that  no  confidence  is  to  be  placed  in  man 
or  woman  is  apt  to  have  little  confidence  in  the  soundness  of  the 
universe  itself,  just  as  the  life  which  lacks  the  absolute  faith  is 
less  likely  to  have  faith  in  individuals.  Yet  it  should  always  be 
borne  in  mind  that  the  shattering  of  the  finite  form  to  which  faith 
has  clung  is  not  one  with  the  destruction  of  the  absolute  object 
of  faith  itself. 

Absolute  faith  postulates  that  without  which  the  world  would 
be  a  failure.  The  only  argument  that  the  mind  has  to  offer  is 
precisely  this.  "  If  this  were  not  so,"  it  urges,  "  if  my  faith  were 
without  a  basis,  then  the  world  would  be  a  failure."  If  it  is 
asked  why  the  world  should  not  be  a  failure,  it  can  only  reply, 


HELPS   TO    FAITH  431 

"  I  cannot  believe  otherwise."  It  feels  that  such  faith  is  essential 
to  the  highest  life  of  the  soul,  and  therefore  it  must  hold  it.  This 
is  the  position  of  Kant,  although  his  statement  is  in  a  more  ab- 
stract form  than  the  statements  which  are  ordinarily  given.  It 
is  in  the  very  necessity  of  the  nature  of  the  soul,  Kant  declares, 
that  it  should  fulfil  righteousness;  but  it  cannot  fulfil  righteous- 
ness unless  there  be  a  God  and  an  eternity;  therefore  it  has  a 
right  to  assume  God  and  immortality.  It  is  an  entire  misunder- 
standing of  Kant's  statement  to  suppose  that  he  intends  it  as  any 
sort  of  proof.  It  is  not  a  proof  but  a  postulate.  It  is  often  said 
that  faith  may  be  and  is  an  act  of  will,  that  a  man  can  determine 
to  what  world  he  will  belong.  Fichte  urges  this  as  fundamental, 
and  Professor  James  takes  a  similar  position.  Will  is  here  regarded 
in  two  aspects,  as  the  tendency  of  the  nature,  and  as  the  voluntary 
act.  The  Ritschlians  also  recognize  this.  Man  affirms  his  re- 
lation to  the  spiritual  world,  and  chooses  the  banner  under  which 
he  will  think  and  work.  Faith  thus  consists  in  voluntarily  allying 
one's  self  with  that  which  is  highest  and  best. 

It  is  true  that  faith  finds  certain  helps  in  what  it  sees  of  goodness 
and  beauty  in  the  world,  and  of  unity  and  adaptation.  There 
are  so  many  indications  of  the  presence  of  a  teleological  principle 
that  even  external  facts  would  lead  us  to  affirm  that  the  great  end 
of  life  toward  which  all  the  world  has  been  moving  could  not  be 
itself  a  failure.  Yet  faith  is  often  strongest  when  all  reasoning 
and  speculation  come  to  naught.  At  death  all  outward  supports 
fail,  and  the  whole  visible  universe  appears  to  be  falling  away 
from  around  and  beneath  the  individual,  and  yet  faith  is  never 
stronger  than  at  the  hour  of  death.  In  moments  of  deepest 
sorrow,  also,  faith  is  at  its  strongest.  It  seems  sometimes  as 
though  when  all  outward  things  were  going  well,  the  soul  trusted 
to  them,  and  only  when  these  things  were  taken  away,  and  it  was 
thrown  back  upon  itself,  did  it  discover  the  real  power  of  faith. 
Perhaps  one  of  the  greatest  helps  to  faith  is  found  in  the  sym- 
pathy with  noble  souls  who  have  themselves  cherished  such 
faith.  It  is  interesting  to  see  how  often  we  find  faith  associated 
with  general  nobility  of  soul.     It  is  the  great  natures  that  manifest 


432  HELPS   TO    FAITH 

faith  most  strongly,  no  doubt  because  faith  is  an  element  in  the 
freest  and  fullest  development  of  life,  whereas  a  distrust  of  one's 
environment  is  unfavorable  to  the  healthiest  growth.  This  is 
one  great  source  of  the  power  of  Jesus.  Standing  as  he  does  at 
the  central  point  in  the  movement  of  history,  all  who  have  honored 
him  have  felt  the  contagion  of  his  mighty  faith.  In  such  faith 
as  this  there  is  no  weakness.  Mere  credulity  is  weak,  but  faith 
is  heroic.  In  a  world  where  there  is  so  much  evil  and  suffering, 
it  is  the  heroism  of  faith  that  it  can  affirm  an  infinite  good  above 
and  in  the  world  and  working  through  it.  In  a  world  where  all 
life  seems  to  die  and  pass  away,  it  is  the  heroism  of  faith  that  it 
affirms  immortality.  This  faith  rises  about  the  great  mass  of  out- 
ward facts  which  seem  to  contradict  it,  and  trusts  itself.  In  it 
the  spiritual  lays  down  the  law  to  the  material. 

Some  have  said  that  courage  is  born  of  faith,  and  others  that 
faith  is  born  of  courage.  Both  statements  are  significant.  That 
courage  is  born  of  faith  is  true  in  the  sense  that  in  so  far  as  a  man 
has  confidence  in  himself  and  in  his  purposes,  the  more  courage 
he  has  in  carrying  through  that  which  he  has  undertaken  to  its 
result.  But  on  the  other  hand  it  may  be  said  that  the  more 
his  courage  is  based  on  faith,  the  less  he  has ;  for  if  he  is  sure  of 
accomplishing  a  thing,  there  is  not  much  courage  in  undertaking 
it.  Therefore  the  kind  of  courage  that  is  born  of  faith  is  less  needed 
as  faith  is  stronger.  Yet  it  may  be  said  that  faith  in  the  object 
itself,  rather  than  in  its  accomplishment,  does  give  greater  courage 
and  disregard  of  danger.  On  the  other  hand  faith  is  also  born 
of  courage.  We  recognize  this  more  readily  if  we  substitute  the 
word  "boldness"  for  "courage."  Boldness  certainly  increases 
with  faith,  for  faith  is  self-asserting  in  relation  to  that  which  it 
has  recognized  as  best.  Why  is  it  that  we  admire  courage  and 
faith?  Foolhardiness  we  despise,  and  superficial  readiness 
either  to  believe  or  to  act  we  feel  to  be  unworthy.  We  also  think 
little  of  a  timid  or  doubting  heart.  But  there  is  something  about 
confidence  and  courage  that  we  admire.  Just  as  we  feel  con- 
tempt for  the  cowardice  of  the  man  who  gives  way,  so  we  honor 
the  man  who  we  see  stands  for  something,  at  least  for  himself, 


HELPS   TO    FAITH  433 

if  for  nothing  better.  I  suppose  it  is  because  both  faith  and  cour- 
age spring  from  a  more  abundant  life,  and  in  turn  stimulate  it. 

There  are  two  elements  in  the  highest  religious  faith,  the  recog- 
nition of  the  highest  good  as  supreme  de  jure,  and  the  recognition 
of  it  as  supreme  de  facto.  The  first  recognizes  the  divinity  of 
righteousness,  the  second,  the  omnipotence  of  righteousness. 
The  first  declares  that  righteousness  ought  to  be  supreme,  the 
second,  that  it  not  only  ought  to  be  but  is  supreme.  The  first 
is  sufficient  for  a  sturdy  morality,  the  second  alone  affirms  that 
which  we  call  religion.  Indeed,  this  distinction  between  religion 
and  morality  is  as  good  as  any  that  we  can  make,  that  whereas 
morality  recognizes  the  supremacy  of  the  divine  goodness  de  jure, 
religion  recognize  it  not  only  de  jure  but  de  facto. 

We  have  already  had  occasion  to  notice  how  science  itself  rests 
upon  faith,  so  far  as  its  fundamental  principles  are  concerned.1 
Science  believes  what  it  cannot  prove.  It  finds  the  law  of  gravita- 
tion illustrated  in  a  few  worlds,  and  affirms  that  it  is  the  controlling 
force  of  all  worlds.  It  discovers  a  few  instances  of  a  connection 
of  cause  and  effect  in  the  past,  and  affirms  that  such  connection 
always  has  been  and  always  will  be  universal.  This  is  a  faith  as 
magnificent  as  the  faith  of  religion,  and  as  pure.  Religion  adds 
to  this  faith  in  truth  the  faith  in  goodness,  and  because  of  its 
faith  in  truth  and  goodness  it  has  also  its  faith  in  beauty;  because 
it  has  its  faith  in  what  is  and  in  what  ought  to  be,  it  also  has  its 
faith  in  the  universe  as  being  that  which  it  ought  to  be.  We  hold 
the  faith  of  science  because  it  is  necessary  to  life ;  we  could  not  live 
without  that  trust  in  the  unity  of  things  which  is  the  basis  of 
science.  But  faith  in  the  religious  sense  is  as  essential  to  the  life 
of  the  spirit  as  faith  in  the  scientific  sense  is  to  the  life  of  the  body. 
We  are  told,  however,  that  the  faith  of  science  is  confirmed  by 
experience,  whereas  such  confirmation  of  the  supremacy  of  good- 
ness is  not  found  in  anything  like  the  same  degree.  It  is  true 
that  science  finds  its  faith  confirmed  by  experience  to  a  large 
extent,  and  it  is  also  true  that  although  there  are  still  a  great 
many  things  in  the  world  that  cannot  yet  be  reduced  to  the  unity 
of  scientific  faith,  there  are  vastly  more  things  that  cannot  be 
i  Page  374. 


434  DIFFICULTIES 

brought  within  the  requirements  of  religious  faith.  It  is  more 
difficult  to  prove  the  supremacy  of  goodness  in  the  universe  than 
to  prove  the  supremacy  of  law.  Yet  religious  faith  has  also  its 
confirmations.  It  holds  that  "to  them  that  love  God  all  things 
work  together  for  good,"  '  and  everyone  who  has  fairly  put  this 
to  the  test  has  found  it  true  at  least  of  his  own  experience. 

At  the  same  time  we  have  to  recognize  that  there  are  many 
difficulties  with  which  faith  must  contend.  We  cannot  be  sur- 
prised at  this,  for  faith  would  not  be  faith  if  there  were  no  diffi- 
culties. The  surprise  is  that  the  difficulties  are  so  great.  It 
is  a  surprise  that  is  especially  apt  to  meet  the  young  as  they 
enter  upon  life.  It  is  so  easy  to  talk  about  temptation,  and  it 
seems  as  though  it  would  be  as  easy  to  resist  it.  It  is  not  until 
one  has  had  personal  experience  of  it  that  he  realizes  that  the 
essential  element  in  temptation  is  that  it  tempts.  So  long  as  our 
difficulties  are  difficulties  only  of  the  imagination  it  is  easy  to  be 
heroic,  but  when  the  reality  of  pain  and  toil  and  grief  brings  with 
it  real  difficulties,  then  we  are  surprised  at  finding  how  great  they 
are.  Faith  implies  a  certain  degree  of  optimism,  and  it  is  open, 
therefore,  to  the  same  difficulties  to  which  all  optimism  is  open. 
We  affirm  the  supremacy  of  good,  and  we  find  an  actuality  of 
evil.  The  question  is  often  asked  why  God  did  not  make  spirits 
perfect  at  the  first.  The  Christian  tradition  says  that  he  did, 
and  that  the  experiment  failed;  the  angels  fell,  and  the  Creator 
was  obliged  to  begin  again  and  build  up  from  the  bottom.  The 
tradition  illustrates  the  great  lesson  which  life  teaches,  that  apart 
from  all  theories  and  looking  only  at  the  actual  relations  of  things, 
we  find  that  the  highest  cannot  be  created  outright,  cannot  be 
given  outright,  but  must  be  won  by  each  individual  for  himself. 
And  it  must  be  won  at  a  cost. 

I  know  that  this  is  superficial,  and  that  we  must  go  behind  it. 
If  God  is  omnipotent  goodness,  we  have  to  ask,  why  has  he  not 
made  the  world  a  good  and  happy  world?  I  have  already  re- 
ferred to  this  question  in  considering  the  doctrine  of  omnipotence.2 
We  have  found  that  the  thought  of  omnipotence  pushed  to  this 

i  Romans,  viii,  28.  2  Page  53. 


DIFFICULTIES  435 

extreme  would  do  away  with  all  other  attributes  and  qualities. 
We  have  seen1  that  the  "unconditioned"  of  Spencer  is  an  im- 
possibility, even  to  his  own  thought,  because  the  Absolute  that 
he  describes  must  by  its  very  nature  produce  the  precise  universe 
that  we  have  and  could  not  produce  any  other.  Even  in  the 
divine  nature,  even  in  an  ideal  relation  which  we  cannot  com- 
prehend, we  may  conjecture  that  there  exists  a  connection  for 
all  finite  natures  between  virtue  and  effort  as  absolute  as  the  law 
of  contradiction  itself.  A  virtue  given  may  be  as  truly  a  con- 
tradiction in  terms  as  any  that  can  be  conceived;  to  be  good 
without  having  won  the  good  may  be  a  contradiction  as  truly  as 
to  be  and  not  to  be,  in  the  same  sense  and  at  the  same  moment. 
Of  course  this  is  merely  conjectural,  but  it  is  the  last  word  that 
we  can  say  upon  the  matter.  We  have  two  fundamental  prin- 
ciples to  apply:  first,  the  unconditioned  is  something  the  exist- 
ence of  which  we  cannot  even  conceive,  because  such  an  existence 
would  lead  to  nothing;  and  second,  if  there  are  conditions,  these 
conditions  may  be  of  the  character  which  I  have  just  suggested. 

Practically,  in  actual  life,  we  recognize  often  the  gain  in  strength 
and  beauty  which  may  come  through  the  limitations  of  the  earthly 
experience.  Something  of  this  finds  illustration  in  the  attempts 
that  have  been  made  by  the  painters  in  trying  to  portray  a  per- 
fect holiness  that  has  not  known  struggle.  When  in  these  pictures 
we  compare  the  faces  of  the  angels  with  those  of  the  saints,  the 
angel  faces  are  no  doubt  fair  and  sweet,  and  yet  there  is  in  the 
faces  of  the  saints,  however  furrowed  by  age  and  suffering,  a 
nobler  kind  of  beauty  that  is  lacking  in  the  angel  faces.  Perhaps 
we  may  interpret  in  a  larger  sense  than  was  intended  that  story 
of  the  Hindu  maiden  who  was  about  to  choose  a  husband.  You 
will  remember  that  three  gods  took  the  form  of  her  beloved,  so 
that  she  saw  four  semblances  of  him  instead  of  one;  but  whereas 
the  three  gods  were  of  an  absolute  purity,  her  human  lover  was 
soiled  with  sweat  and  dust,  and  so  she  knew  him  by  the  marks 
of  his  earthly  infirmities,  and  we  may  conceive  loved  him  the 
better  because  of  them. 

The  suffering  of  the  lower  animals  presents  a  harder  problem, 
i  Page  6. 


436  DIFFICULTIES 

It  was  the  problem  which  troubled  Theodore  Parker;  he  found 
no  difficulty  in  human  su  ering.  We  may  indeed  reduce  the 
suffering  of  the  lower  animals  to  a  minimum  in  our  thought.  It 
is  true  that  whereas  human  suffering  is  so  concentrated  by  memory 
and  fear  that  the  whole  burden  of  long  periods  may  be  felt  at 
every  moment,  the  burden  in  the  case  of  the  animal  is  spread  out 
over  the  whole  of  life.  It  is  true  that  whereas  wilfulness  exag- 
gerates human  suffering,  there  is  in  the  suffering  of  the  lower 
animal  a  certain  passivity  often, — it  desires  simply  to  crawl  away 
and  hide  itself.  Still  the  suffering  is  there,  and  we  are  quite  as 
likely  to  underrate  as  to  overrate  it.  The  whole  field  is  obscure. 
In  regard  to  man's  future  we  have  our  faiths  in  immortality, 
but  as  regards  the  future  of  these  lower  creatures  we  can  neither 
affirm  nor  deny.  To  make  a  conjecture  that  may  seem  bizarre, 
is  it  possible  that  as  the  life  of  the  world  moves  slowly  upward 
from  the  lower  to  the  higher  through  this  terrible  struggle  for 
existence,  the  spiritual  element  is  working  in  these  pains  so  that 
a  higher  inheritance  may  result?  But  I  can  only  repeat  that  at 
present  the  whole  region  is  obscure,  the  whole  question  as  to 
what  animal  life  really  is,  and  what  is  its  consciousness,  and  its 
history.     It  is  very  obscure  and  very  tantalizing. 

Returning  to  the  world  of  human  life,  it  is  reassuring  to  recog- 
nize that  in  spite  of  all  its  many  obscurities,  there  still  are  certain 
luminous  points  which  shed  light  upon  the  rest.  Spencer  tells 
us  that  pain  is  absolute  evil.1  Let  me  say  here,  in  passing,  that 
it  is  well  to  avoid  the  temptation  to  speak  slightingly  of  a  writer 
who  meets  us  thus  at  almost  every  point  in  our  discussion.  This 
statement,  however,  in  regard  to  pain  we  cannot  accept.  For 
in  a  world  without  pain  we  should  find  no  place  for  heroism,  no 
place  for  sympathy  in  any  profound  sense,  and  no  place  for  the 
development  of  character,  or  for  helpfulness  and  the  various 
glad  activities  of  life.  These  activities  imply  friction,  and  yet 
the  slightest  friction  or  difficulty  is  of  the  nature  of  pain.  Fur- 
thermore, it  is  through  difficulties  that  life  works  upward  from 
the  lower  animal  plane  to  the  spiritual  plane.     The  devil  is  painted 

i  The  Data  of  Ethics,  Chap.  III. 


DIFFICULTIES  437 

with  horns  and  hoofs,  and  it  may  be  that  this  symbolizes  the 
animal  nature  of  sin,  the  fact  that  moral  evil  is  from  below.  It 
is  also  suggestive  that  in  the  medieval  plays  the  devil  figures 
simply  as  an  instrument  and  tool.  Certainly  we  can  recognize 
no  absolute  evil;  temptation  as  well  as  suffering  may  be  the 
instruments  of  the  higher  life.  It  is  sometimes  urged  that  if  the 
principle  of  absolute  evil  is  denied,  the  principle  of  absolute  good 
must  go  also.  But  whereas  evil  is  negative,  good  is  positive, 
and  the  positive  may  abide  even  if  the  negative  passes  away.  I 
say  nothing  as  to  the  possible  existence  of  evil  spirits;  we  can- 
not say  on  any  a  'priori  grounds  that  there  may  not  be  a  whole 
hierarchy  of  such  spirits.  But  the  principle  of  absolute  evil  can 
have  no  place  in  our  thought  of  the  universe. 

Theoretically  most  people  no  doubt  would  agree  with  what 
has  been  said.  It  is  very  easy  to  recognize  in  theory  the  fact  that 
suffering  and  temptation  may  be  helps  to  a  life  which  could  not 
be  lived  without  them.  The  real  difficulty  comes  when  we  meet 
the  fact  of  temptation  and  suffering,  whether  in  our  own  lives 
or  in  the  lives  of  those  about  us.  We  who  perhaps  have  solved 
without  difficulty  the  problem  of  the  suffering  of  the  universe, 
find  our  theoretical  optimism  put  to  shame  by  a  toothache,  to 
say  nothing  of  severer  suffering.  Then  it  is  that  we  ask  why 
suffering  should  be  permitted  in  a  world  that  is  ruled  by  supreme 
goodness.  The  suffering  of  those  who  are  dear  to  us  involves 
still  greater  difficulty.  For  in  bearing  his  own  burden  of  pain  or 
sorrow  a  man  has  some  resources  which  fail  him  when  he  tries 
to  bear  the  burden  of  another.  He  may  make  light  of  his  own 
sorrow,  but  not  of  the  sorrows  of  his  friend;  he  may  summon 
up  energy  to  meet  troubles  of  his  own,  but  he  cannot  provide 
in  this  way  for  another's  trouble.  Practically  speaking,  what 
disturbs  our  faith  is  not  the  idea  of  suffering  but  its  reality;  it  is 
when  we  feel  the  reality  of  it  that  we  protest.  So  that  the  very 
hardest  lesson  that  we  have  to  learn  is  that  if  the  battle  is  to  be 
fought,  it  must  be  a  real  battle.  If  suffering  is  to  do  its  work, 
it  must  be  real  suffering.  If  we  are  to  be  made  perfect  through 
temptation,   the  temptation  must  be  that  which  really  tempts. 


438  THE    SUMMUM   BONUM 

If  victory  is  to  be  real,  the  battle  must  be  not  a  sham  fight  but  a 
real  battle,  involving  the  possibility  of  real  and  absolute  defeat. 

The  real  difficulty,  then,  lies  in  a  lack  of  proportion.  These 
persons  or  those,  we  say,  or  perhaps  we  ourselves,  have  more 
than  a  just  share  of  suffering  or  temptation;  and  we  are  very 
apt  to  magnify  our  own  share.  But  how  is  the  just  proportion 
to  be  determined?  If  theoretically  we  grant  the  necessity  of 
suffering,  if  practically  we  grant  its  reality,  how  are  we  to  deter- 
mine the  degree  in  which  it  shall  be  shared?  The  fundamental 
difficulty  in  the  whole  matter,  practically  considered,  is  the  fact 
that  in  our  hearts  we  fail  to  recognize  what  is  the  real  end  of  life. 
We  may  recognize  it  theoretically,  but  not  actually  in  our  hearts. 
Theoretically  we  agree  that  the  end  of  life,  so  far  as  it  is  open  to 
us,  is  the  development  of  our  spiritual  nature  in  the  direction  of 
the  highest  virtue,  if  I  may  use  an  inadequate  term  for  a  great 
fact.  Practically,  I  suppose  that  most  of  us  feel  that  the  end  of 
life  is  happiness,  and  so,  if  unhappiness  comes  to  us,  we  feel  that 
our  life  is  failing  to  fulfil  its  end,  even  though  the  straight  and 
narrow  path  which  leads  to  the  spiritual  heights  may  still  be 
open  to  us. 

One  of  the  most  difficult  themes,  in  a  discussion  in  which  all 
the  themes  bristle  with  difficulties,  is  the  question,  what  is  the 
summum  bonum.  Is  it  happiness,  or  is  it  virtue?  I  suppose 
we  should  all  say  that  practically  it  is  both;  that  the  universe 
would  be  perfect  if  happiness  could  be  reached  by  virtue.  But 
which  is  higher?  Shall  we  say  that  happiness  is  the  inevitable 
comcomitant  of  virtue,  or  that  virtue  is  the  means  to  the  highest 
happiness?  I  think  it  is  obvious  that  from  our  present  point  of 
view  virtue  must  be  regarded  as  the  highest  good.  For  although 
we  may  admit  that  the  highest  happiness  can  be  reached  only 
through  virtue,  and  that  virtue  thus  may  be  regarded  as  the  means 
by  which  to  reach  the  highest  happiness,  still  the  true  end  toward 
which  we  are  to  strive  is  the  highest  spiritual  life.  If  we  really 
felt  this,  if  we  were  really  convinced  in  our  hearts  that  the  highest 
spiritual  life  is  the  highest  good  of  which  we  can  at  present  con- 
ceive, the  questions  that  we  have  been  considering  might  still 


THE    SUMMUM    BONUM  439 

remain  unsolved  theoretically,  but  practically,  for  most  men, 
they  would  be  answered.  The  reason  why  most  of  us  are  so 
pressed  by  our  difficulties  is  that  we  do  not  realize  that  virtue  is 
worth  all  that  it  costs.  If  we  did  realize  it,  the  inspiration  of  the 
thought  of  the  spiritual  life  as  we  should  see  it  in  all  its  beauty, 
would  give  us  such  strength  and  earnestness  that  our  difficulties 
would  seem  slight  in  comparison.  Furthermore,  when  we  con- 
sider happiness  and  virtue  side  by  side,  we  see  that  happiness  is 
not  possible  for  all;  but  for  all  normal  souls  not  only  is  the  growth 
in  virtue  possible,  but  it  is  made  more  easily  possible  through 
these  very  difficulties  which  trouble  us.  Therefore  if  we  fully 
realized  both  the  power  of  this  ideal  and  the  possibility  of  drawing 
nearer  to  it,  we  should  find  the  foundations  for  an  optimistic 
faith  greatly  broadened  and  strengthened.  A  work  that  is  most 
helpful  in  this  connection  is  Edward  Dowden's  Critical  Study  of 
the  Mind  and  Art  of  Shakspere,  because  of  the  clearness  with 
which  the  sternest  difficulties  of  life,  as  they  are  pictured  in  the 
tragedies,  are  contrasted  with  the  higher  life  which  causes  those 
difficulties  to  seem  of  comparatively  little  account. 

I  have  sometimes  used  an  illustration  which  I  find  is  given  in 
an  essay  by  Frances  Power  Cobbe.1  She  speaks  of  the  bewilder- 
ment and  questioning  that  would  arise  in  the  mind  of  a  person 
who  had  never  seen  a  ship  and  who  in  passing  along  the  shore 
should  come  upon  one  on  the  stocks  and  mistake  it  for  a  house. 
We  can  imagine  his  perplexity.  On  the  one  hand  there  would  be 
the  evidences  of  art  and  skill  and  contrivance,  the  evidences  that 
in  many  respects  the  comfort  and  taste  of  the  future  occupants 
had  been  anticipated  and  provided  for.  Yet  on  the  other  hand 
it  would  appear  in  many  ways  so  inconvenient  and  unattractive 
that  he  would  wonder  how  an  architect  or  builder,  evidently  of 
so  much  genius  and  skill,  and  with  so  much  money  at  his  dis- 
posal, could  have  made  such  a  house  as  this.  In  a  similar  way, 
if  the  world  is  to  be  considered  simply  as  a  house  in  which 
we  are  to  dwell  comfortably,  difficulties  at  once  appear.  We 
confess  that  there  is  evidence  enough  of  design,   and  evidence 

i  The  Peak  in  Darien,  "The  House  on  the  Shore  of  Eternity." 


440  PROVIDENCE   AS   THE    OBJECT    OF   FAITH 

enough  of  power  and  of  the  preparation  of  that  which  may  satisfy 
our  highest  desires.  Yet  in  spite  of  all  this  the  world  presents 
so  much  of  inconvenience  and  of  suffering  !  Certainly  if  the 
world  is  only  a  house  for  present  dwelling,  these  difficulties  may 
easily  seem  great  beyond  the  possibility  of  explanation.  But  if 
the  world  is  not  a  house  but  a  ship,  if  the  mere  dwelling  at  ease 
is  not  the  end  of  life,  but  the  accomplishment  of  the  highest  ideals, 
the  development  of  the  highest  spiritual  life,  then  we  find  that 
the  world  may  be  well  adapted  to  its  purpose. 

We  have  seen  with  what  difficulties  faith  has  to  contend.  We 
have  also  seen  in  what  way  faith  may  be  aided  in  overcoming 
these  difficulties.  It  is  to  be  noticed  that  the  evil  of  life  is  felt 
much  more,  as  a  rule,  by  those  who  consider  the  evil  theoretically 
than  by  those  who  are  actually  suffering.  The  faithful  souls 
who  pass  through  suffering  and  look  upon  it  from  within  see 
the  real  meaning  of  it  and  realize  the  good  that  it  is  working  out, 
as  those  who  look  upon  it  sympathetically  from  the  outside  do 
not.  Men  learn  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  patience,  and  a 
faith  that  can  transform  sorrow,  and  an  aspiration  that  rejoices 
at  finding  in  suffering  that  upon  which  it  feeds.  The  world,  then, 
is  to  be  regarded  as  designed  not  so  much  to  test  character — 
for  there  is  nothing  to  test  until  the  experience  has  come — but 
rather  to  develop  character.  In  a  certain  sense,  however,  it 
may  become  a  test,  for  all  these  things  may  be  misused.  It  is  a 
great  mistake  to  suppose  that  suffering  in  itself  has  power  to  save 
men.  To  realize  this,  we  have  only  to  remind  ourselves  how 
many  natures  have  simply  been  hardened  by  it.  But  there  is 
in  it  the  possibility  of  salvation ;  it  offers  a  way  by  which  salva- 
tion may  be  attained. 

When  we  pass  to  the  consideration  of  the  object  of  faith,  the 
idea  toward  which  it  strives,  the  divine  providence,  we  find  that 
two  views  are  held  with  more  or  less  distinctness:  the  belief  in 
what  is  technically  defined  as  special  providence,  and  the  belief 
in  that  which  may  be  called  general  providence.  The  terms 
are  inadequate,  but  we  may  use  them  for  convenience.  Accord- 
ing to  the  first  view  every  element  of  life  and  every  event  in  life 


PROVIDENCE    AS    THE    OBJECT    OF    FAITH  441 

is  specially  adapted  to  the  special  needs  of  each  individual,  so 
that  if  special  suffering  comes  to  a  man,  or  special  joy,  there  is 
the  question  why  this  joy  or  suffering  should  have  come  to  this 
particular  individual.  According  to  the  other  view  the  laws 
of  nature  are  invariable,  and  every  spirit  alike  is  subject  to 
them.  Therefore  when  this  or  that  experience  comes  to  an  indi- 
vidual, he  does  not  ask  why  the  special  event  should  have  hap- 
pened to  him,  but  sees  in  it  one  manifestation  of  the  forces  by 
which  all  men  are  surrounded.  According  to  the  first  view, 
a  man's  relation  to  the  world  is  like  a  bath  that  has  been  specially 
prepared  in  accordance  with  the  directions  of  the  physician, 
with  just  such  qualities  to  the  water,  and  just  such  temperature, 
and  so  on.  According  to  the  other  view,  the  relation  is  like  bath- 
ing in  the  ocean,  where  there  is  no  preparation  for  the  individual, 
but  the  same  surf  beats  upon  all  alike. 

It  may  be  asked,  where,  if  we  take  this  latter  view,  is  the  pos- 
sibility of  recognizing  any  providence  at  all  ?  Where  is  there 
any  opportunity  for  faith?  The  difference,  however,  between 
the  two  views  is  largely  one  of  detail.  There  is  opportunity  for 
precisely  the  same  sort  of  faith  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other, 
the  faith  in  an  absolute  ordering  of  events.  Only  according 
to  the  second  view  we  assume  that  the  divine  providence  has 
ordained  this  subjection  of  man  to  a  system  of  invariable  law 
as  the  best  method  of  education  for  the  spiritual  life,  recogniz- 
ing that  in  a  world  where  laws  might  be  suspended,  where  the 
action  of  forces  might  vary  according  to  every  varying  need, 
the  soul  would  lose  its  strength  and  vigor.  The  question  in 
regard  to  our  conception  of  the  divine  providence  is  a  question 
as  to  the  best  method  of  training;  is  the  individual  soul  best 
trained  under  the  one  system  or  under  the  other?  An  imperfect 
parallel  to  this  question  appears  in  the  question  in  regard  to 
the  education  of  children,  whether  private  education  is  better, 
or  education  in  the  larger  schools.  The  illustration  is  a  very 
poor  one,  but  I  use  it  purposely.  For  if  the  world  is  designed 
for  the  training  of  the  spiritual  life,  then  we  must  see  that  the 
question  as  to  which  method  is  better  may  be  a  very  open  one. 


442  PROVIDENCE   AS   THE    OBJECT    OF    FAITH 

What  I  am  insisting  upon  is  that  the  idea  of  an  overruling  provi- 
dence enters  just  as  much  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other.  The 
providential  care  may  show  itself  in  the  strength  that  is  inspired 
in  the  hearts  of  those  who  seek  it,  as  they  find  themselves  exposed 
to  the  action  of  the  invariable  laws.  The  father  may,  as  it  were, 
himself  bear  his  child  into  the  ocean,  so  that  as  the  waves  beat 
upon  the  child,  the  father's  hand  supports  him  and  the  father's 
voice  gives  him  courage. 

As  we  compare  the  two  methods  further  we  have  to  recognize 
that  whereas  the  first  admits  no  a  posteriori  proof,  the  second 
does  admit  such  proof  up  to  a  certain  point.  Not  that  this  dis- 
credits the  first  method.  But  supposing  that  we  held  this  view, 
we  could  not  expect  to  be  able  to  "justify  the  ways  of  God  to 
men."  For  in  order  to  understand  the  relation  of  outward  events 
to  individual  character,  we  should  need  to  have  a  knowledge 
of  the  character  and  of  its  relations  that  we  cannot  have.  As 
it  is,  we  interpret  providence  in  each  case  according  to  the  result. 
We  regard  the  same  experience  sometimes  as  a  judgment  and 
sometimes  as  a  discipline,  according  to  the  person  to  whom  it 
has  come.  And  as  a  matter  of  fact,  apart  from  any  theory  as 
to  a  special  or  a  general  providence,  that  is  what  we  find  in  the 
world.  "All  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love 
God,"  whatever  the  explanation  we  may  give,  whether  the  cur- 
rent of  events  is  so  guided  as  to  bear  the  lover  of  God  on  his 
way,  or  whether  the  lover  of  God  has  the  power  to  transmute 
the  environment  in  which  he  is  placed  into  that  which  shall 
nourish  and  develop  his  life.  This  power  of  transmutation  differs 
in  different  individuals  as  one  plant  differs  from  another;  given 
the  rosebush,  all  things  work  together  to  produce  roses,  and 
given  the  thistle,  all  things  work  together  to  produce  thistles. 
Or  from  another  point  of  view,  it  is  like  the  sailing  of  ships 
upon  the  sea;  nothing  is  more  striking  to  one  who  sees  it  for 
the  first  time  than  the  passing  of  ships,  one  in  one  direction 
and  another  in  precisely  the  opposite  direction,  and  yet  both 
impelled  by  the  same  breeze.  The  second  view  does  admit 
a  posteriori  proof  to   some   extent,   though   not   absolute   proof. 


PROVIDENCE    AS    THE    OBJECT   OF    FAITH  443 

This  proof  appears  in  the  fact  that  no  suffering  has  been  found 
so  great  that  souls  have  not  been  purified  and  lifted  by  it.  The 
difficulty  is  that  so  many  souls  have  been  hardened  by  even  less 
suffering,  and  the  question  which  cannot  be  determined  by  any 
a  posteriori  reasoning  is  whether  in  such  cases  the  individual 
was  incapacitated  by  his  nature  from  drawing  out  of  his  expe- 
rience the  possible  benefit.  What  we  may  say  with  tolerable 
confidence  is  that  there  is  no  suffering  from  which  the  individ- 
ual may  not,  if  he  will,  receive  some  betterment.  At  the  same 
time  no  observer  of  life  can  fail  to  see  that  there  are  natures 
which  harden  with  suffering  but  blossom  into  a  certain  beauty 
in  the  sunshine  of  prosperity. 

I  suppose  that  in  the  largest  possible  view  both  theories  would 
flow  together.  That  is,  if  we  recognize  absolute  omniscience 
and  absolute  omnipotence  in  the  sense  in  which  we  have  used 
these  terms,  and  if  we  regard  this  all-wise  omnipotence  as  estab- 
lishing absolute  laws,  then  we  must  conceive  of  this  power  as 
seeing  these  laws  from  the  first  in  the  whole  sweep  of  their  his- 
tory and  results,  so  that  in  their  very  establishment  their  applica- 
tion to  the  needs  of  every  individual  would  have  been  foreseen 
and  provided  for.  But  this  carries  us  very  far  into  a  region 
where  I  for  one  do  not  like  to  penetrate.  My  objeot  has  been, 
not  to  press  either  the  one  view  or  the  other,  but  only  to  emphasize 
what  it  is  that  religion  has  at  stake  in  this  question.  The  diffi- 
culty is  that  individuals  are  apt  to  insist  upon  the  inflexibility 
of  law  and  then  leave  the  matter  there,  whereas  for  the  com- 
plete religious  view  we  need  to  recognize  the  fact  that  religion 
assumes  that  the  individual  is  indeed  subject  to  law,  but  subject 
to  it  by  the  act  of  divine  wisdom  and  love.  It  may  be  helpful 
to  notice  that  the  second  view  suggests  a  distinction  like  that 
which  Paul  so  emphasizes,  between  law  and  grace.  The  natural 
law,  like  the  Jewish  law,  may  be  regarded  as  the  schoolmaster 
to  bring  men  to  Christ,  training  men's  spirits  by  the  discipline 
of  its  in  variableness  until  they  can  rise  into  the  higher  realm  of 
love.  But  however  this  may  be,  without  some  view  of  provi- 
dence the  soul  cannot  rest  and  religion  cannot  exist.      All  that 


444  PROVIDENCE   AS   THE    OBJECT    OF    FAITH 

religion  demands  is  the  recognition  of  an  infinite  spirit  of  love 
into  relation  with  which  the  finite  spirit  is  brought. 

We  have  seen  that  practically  speaking  no  finite  nature  can 
reach  the  highest  perfection  possible  to  it  without  the  discipline 
of  evil,  at  least  in  the  form  of  friction.  However  hopeless  we 
may  be  in  regard  to  any  answer,  I  suppose  we  cannot  help 
asking  the  question,  how  is  it,  then,  with  the  infinite  spirit  ?  Is 
the  infinite  spirit  also  made  perfect  through  suffering?  This  is 
wholly  beyond  our  knowledge,  and  we  need  not  be  confused 
if  the  results  that  we  have  reached  in  regard  to  the  finite  spirit 
seem  foreign  to  the  infinite.  Yet  we  may  recall  a  thought  which 
has  haunted  many  profound  thinkers.  We  may  remember  the 
sacrifice  of  Purusha  by  which  the  universe  was  created,  and 
the  words  of  Lao-Tse,  "He  veiled  his  glory  and  became  one 
with  the  dust,"1  and  we  may  call  to  mind  certain  doctrines  of 
the  Christian  church.  In  other  words,  in  philosophical  language, 
we  may  recognize  that  negative  element  which  is  the  condition  of 
creation.  But  in  regard  to  this  whole  realm  we  can  only  peer 
into  the  mists  and  the  measureless  distances  and  remain  silent. 
Happily  the  question  is  practically  clear  enough  and  is  made 
still  clearer  by  Christianity.  For  in  Christ  and  Christianity  we 
find  the  glorification  of  suffering.  The  Christian  sees  the  captain 
of  his  salvation  made  perfect  through  suffering,2  and  the  cross 
becomes  the  symbol  of  the  highest  life. 

To  go  back  now  to  the  point  from  which  this  discussion  started, 
I  said  that  faith  is  a  condition  of  inspiration.  Since  all  higher 
life  is  in  greater  or  less  degree  the  result  of  inspiration,  it  fol- 
lows that  faith  is  essential  to  the  highest  life.  It  is  indeed  the 
one  important  thing  in  the  religious  life,  the  faith  in  something 
that  is  worthy  of  reverence.  Perhaps  this  may  help  us  to  un- 
derstand those  words  of  Jesus,  "the  publicans  and  the  har- 
lots go  into  the  kingdom  of  God  before  you."3  For  we  may 
suppose  that  Jesus  saw  that  they  had  a  faith  in  a  better  life,  even 

i  V.  F.  Von  Strause,  Lab-Tse's  Tab  Te  King,  p.  22.     S.  Julien,  Le  Livrt  de 
la  Voie,  etc.,  p.  16. 

2  Hebrews,  ii,  10.  *  Matthew,   xxi,   31. 


PROVIDENCE    AS   THE    OBJECT    OF    FAITH  445 

though  they  believed  themselves  to  be  shut  out  from  it,  and  that 
he  felt  that  the  sinful  man  or  woman  who  had  faith  in  the  possi- 
bility of  the  better  life  was  nearer  to  it  than  the  Pharisee  who 
had  no  real  faith  in  the  divinity  of  goodness  and  whose  morality 
was  merely  either  a  habit  or  a  pretence.  We  must  bear  in  mind 
that  this  is  probably  not  the  precise  point  of  the  comparison  as 
Jesus  intended  it;  for  the  Pharisees,  as  he  painted  them,  were 
not  the  morally  religious  people  we  are  too  apt  to  think  them, 
but  rather  men  whose  religiousness  was  hypocritical,  men  who 
were  said  by  him  to  "  devour  widows'  houses  and  for  a  pretence 
make  long  prayers."1  Still  we  may  extend  the  comparison  in  the 
form  in  which  I  have  stated  it,  and  say  that  the  most  imper- 
fect life  which  keeps  its  faith  in  a  better  life,  even  though  it  has 
lost  the  hope  of  reaching  it,  is  really  nearer  God  than  the  most 
upright  life  which  has  lost  this  faith. 

1  Matthew,  xxiii,  14.    Mark,  xii,  40.    Luke,  xx,  47. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

THE  INDIVIDUAL  IN  RELATION  TO  SIN  AND  ATONEMENT. — REPENT- 
ANCE.— FORGIVENESS. — REGENERATION. — PRAYER. 

We  have  considered  the  great  facts  of  sin  and  the  atonement  in 
their  general  aspect.  We  have  now  to  consider  the  individual 
in  relation  to  these  great  facts.  We  have  looked  at  the  environ- 
ment and  have  seen  how  it  is  adapted  for  harmony  with  the  devel- 
opment of  individual  life.  We  now  have  to  look  at  the  individual 
and  see  him  adapting  himself  to  a  relation  in  harmony  with  the 
environment.  It  may  seem  like  a  Hibernicism  to  say  that  the 
environment  may  be  in  harmony  with  the  individual,  and  yet 
the  individual  be  out  of  harmony  with  the  environment,  but 
the  explanation  of  the  seeming  paradox  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact 
that  the  individual  may  be  out  of  harmony  with  himself.  The 
individual  has  two  selves,  the  universal  element  in  his  nature, 
and  the  individual  element.  The  environment  is  in  harmony 
with  the  larger  self,  the  universal  element,  and  it  is  the  business 
of  the  individual  to  bring  the  smaller  self  into  harmony  with  the 
larger  self  and  so  with  the  environment. 

I  will  speak  first  of  repentance.  The  word  as  we  find  it  in  the 
New  Testament  signifies  primarily  a  change,  a  transformation, 
but  in  common  speech  it  has  come  to  mean  regret,  so  that  when 
we  speak  of  repentance  for  sin,  what  we  have  in  mind  is  not  so 
much  the  turning  from  sin  as  the  sorrowing  because  of  it.  To 
this  meaning  the  Catholic  adds,  through  a  mistranslation,  an 
element  of  penance.  I  mention  the  three  meanings  because  all 
are  helpful  to  the  complete  idea  of  repentance.  All  the  three 
elements  are  involved.  The  change  is  the  fundamental  thing; 
but  this  can  hardly  come  except  as  it  is  either  caused  or  accom- 
panied by  regret,  while  the  test  of  repentance  is  the  willingness 
to  do  penance,  the  penance  of  right  living. 


REPENTANCE  447 

In  its  subjective  aspect  the  fact  of  repentance  is  most  inter- 
esting. We  have  seen  1  that  identity  can  be  recognized  only  in 
the  case  of  self-conscious  beings,  in  whose  thought  past,  present 
and  future  are  united.  In  the  case  of  an  impersonal  object  the 
past  leaves  an  effect,  but  the  past  itself  no  longer  exists;  with 
persons,  on  the  other  hand,  the  past  is  taken  up  into  the  present. 
Therefore  in  repentance  there  is  not  merely  the  memory  of  a 
deed,  but  the  recognition  of  responsibility  for  the  deed.  The 
person  extends  his  present  into  the  past  and  brings  over  his  past 
into  the  present.  "This  experience  is  mine,"  he  must  say  to 
himself,  "and  mine  in  such  a  way  that  I  can  blame  myself  for  it." 
Thus  responsibility  is  brought  out  most  clearly  in  repentance. 
But  the  person  may  say  further,  "This  experience  is  truly  mine, 
and  yet  I  disown  it.  It  has  no  business  to  be  mine,  for  it  was 
not  my  true  life  that  accomplished  it.  It  was  my  self  that  did 
the  act,  but  not  my  true  self."  Thus  repentance  emphasizes 
the  distinction  between  the  lower  and  the  higher  self,  the  his- 
torical and  the  permanent  self.  There  is  in  it  both  an  accept- 
ance and  a  rejection  of  the  past  act.  The  sin  is  of  the 
person,  it  is  his  own  sin,  but  it  is  something  foreign  to  his  true 
nature.  Thus  in  the  case  of  the  individual  as  well  as  in  its 
general  aspect,  sin  is  negative.  The  objective  act  itself  and  the 
ruling  motive  at  the  time  when  the  act  was  performed  were 
indeed  positive,  but  what  constituted  the  sin  was  the  absence  of 
the  higher  motive  and  the  higher  deed  which  should  have  been 
present.  At  first  the  thought  of  the  positive  act  is  uppermost  in 
repentance;  the  other  element  appears  later.  "I  am  sorry  that 
I  struck  that  blow,"  is  the  first  thought;  but  then  comes  the 
thought,  "I  ought  not  to  have  given  way  to  my  passion."  Thus 
the  more  profound  repentance  goes  back  to  the  negative  aspect 
of  the  experience. 

I  said  that  the  sin  is  recognized  by  the  individual  as  foreign  to 
his  true  nature.  He  finds  further  that  this  foreign  element  is 
superficial,  and  that  it  can  be  cast  out  and  he  himself  remain 
whole  and  sound.  This  will  appear  more  plainly  if  we  compare 
repentance  with  remorse.  Remorse  like  repentance  sees  that  a 
i  Page  24. 


448  FORGIVENESS 

foreign  element  has  come  into  the  life,  but  unlike  repentance  it 
believes  that  this  element  has  entered  so  deeply  into  the  life,  and 
has  become  so  large  a  part  of  it,  that  it  cannot  be  removed,  so 
that  whereas  repentance  is  full  of  hope,  remorse  is  hopeless.  In 
repentance  the  case  is  like  that  of  a  person  who  suffers  from  some 
external  trouble  which  the  surgeon's  knife  may  easily  remove 
without  touching  the  source  of  life  itself,  but  the  person  who  is 
filled  with  remorse  is  like  the  man  who  finds  that  a  cancer  is 
feeding  upon  his  very  vitals.  It  is  thus  that  remorse  seeks  relief 
sometimes  in  suicide.  Peter  goes  out  and  weeps,  but  he  knows 
that  his  heart  has  all  along  been  true  and  that  his  sin  is  one  that 
his  sorrow  can  wash  out.  Judas  abhors  not  merely  his  sin  but 
himself;  he  feels  that  no  way  is  open  by  which  he  may  eradicate 
his  sin  except  as  he  eradicates  himself.  Yet  however  remorse 
may  be  regarded  from  a  subjective  point  of  view,  viewed  from 
without  it  should  be  considered  a  ground  for  hope.  For  the 
individual  who  can  abhor  himself  on  account  of  his  sin  has  the 
faith  of  which  I  have  only  just  now  spoken,  that  there  is  some- 
thing worthy  of  the  highest  reverence,  something  that  is  worth 
living  for. 

From  certain  points  of  view,  forgiveness  seems  to  be  a  very  light 
and  easy  thing.  But  when  one  looks  at  it  more  closely  he  realizes 
the  difficulty  that  is  involved.  For  if  you  forgive  a  person,  you 
are  supposed  to  treat  him  and  to  feel  toward  him  as  though  he 
had  not  done  the  wrong,  and  how  is  this  possible?  There  is  a 
play  of  Racine's  in  which  Augustus  is  made  to  detect  Cinna  in 
leading  a  conspiracy  to  take  his  life.  He  not  only  forgives  him 
but  shows  the  reality  of  his  forgiveness  by  saying,  "Let  us  be 
friends,  Cinna."  Here  is  the  difficulty  set  in  the  clearest  light. 
Here  is  a  man  asking  another  man  who  has  been  preparing  against 
him  the  sword  of  the  assassin,  to  be  his  friend!  What  sort  of 
friendship  could  there  be  between  these  two  ? 

Three  different  attitudes  are  possible  in  the  object  of  forgive- 
ness, and  the  nature  of  the  forgiveness  in  each  case  varies  accord- 
ing to  the  attitude.  In  the  first  case  the  offender  has  repented. 
Here  forgiveness  ought  to  be  easy,  and  yet  we  know  that  there 


FORGIVENESS  449 

are  persons  whom  apparently  no  amount  of  repentance  leads  to 
forgive  those  who  have  wronged  them.  In  the  second  case  the 
offender  has  not  repented,  but  is  believed  to  be  true  at  heart. 
Here  there  may  be  forgiveness  even  before  repentance,  according 
as  the  person  who  is  wronged  has  power  to  see  the  life  of  the 
wrong-doer  in  its  completeness.  It  is  the  forgiveness  which  is 
so  often  felt  by  the  loving  father  or  mother  toward  their  children, 
or  between  friend  and  friend.  For  a  moment  your  anger  at  an 
unkind  word  or  deed  may  magnify  it  so  that  it  hides  from  you 
your  friend's  life  as  a  whole ;  but  presently  your  love  looks  around 
and  beyond  the  act  and  sees  it  only  as  a  single  incident  over 
against  the  complete  life,  and  you  only  sorrow  that  your  friend 
should  thus  have  yielded  to  the  impulse  to  do  a  wrong  which  is 
unworthy  of  his  truer  self  and  of  which  you  are  sure  he  will  repent 
presently.  The  third  case,  and  the  case  which  occasions  the 
chief  difficulty,  is  that  in  which  even  the  calm  judgment  of  the  of- 
fended person  cannot  separate  the  wrong  act  from  the  life  of  the 
offender  as  a  whole.  If  the  act  was  deceitful,  he  has  to  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  the  person  who  has  done  it  is  deceitful;  if  the 
person  has  inflicted  an  injury  upon  him  he  cannot  help  feeling 
that  this  person  is  cruel.  In  such  circumstances  what  sort  of 
forgiveness  can  there  be?  It  would  seem  at  first  thought  that 
the  most  that  one  could  do  would  be  to  leave  out  of  the  account 
all  personal  considerations,  and  to  judge  an  injury  done  to  one's 
self  exactly  as  though  it  had  been  done  to  some  one  else,  consider- 
ing it  calmly  and  condemning  it  without  passion.  Such  a  course 
undoubtedly  requires  a  certain  degree  of  magnanimity.  We  see 
constantly  persons  who  regard  some  aspect  of  wrong-doing  very 
comfortably  until  they  themselves  become  the  victims  and  then 
suddenly  discover  that  the  offender  is  unworthy  of  any  considera- 
tion whatever.  At  the  same  time  it  is  possible  that  a  profounder 
view  of  life  would  even  here,  as  in  the  second  case,  look  beyond 
the  more  immediate  conditions,  with  faith  in  the  ultimate  good- 
ness of  every  individual,  and  that  here,  too,  there  would  thus  be 
mingled  with  whatever  indignation  one  might  feel  an  element  of 
sorrow.     Forgiveness   does   not   imply   any   lack   of   indignation 


450  FORGIVENESS 

against  evil,  but  it  does  imply  the  absence  of  personal  vindictive- 
ness.  It  is  entirely  possible  that  one's  attitude  toward  wrong- 
doing in  general  may  be  as  much  too  lax  as  the  anger  at  personal 
injury  is  too  intense,  and  that  in  the  case  of  some  minds  the  sense 
of  personal  relation  to  a  wrong  may  serve  to  make  them  see  more 
clearly  the  real  nature  of  the  wrong  itself.  But  it  is  only  the 
more  superficial  minds  that  wait  thus  to  realize  an  evil  until  it 
has  touched  themselves. 

When  we  come  to  consider  forgiveness  in  its  theological  aspect, 
we  find  the  same  difficulties  that  have  met  us  in  the  ethical  aspect. 
We  not  uncommonly  hear  it  said  that  such  a  thing  as  divine  for- 
giveness is  impossible,  that  there  is  simply  sowing  and  reaping, 
and  men  must  abide  by  the  results  of  their  own  acts.  Thus  we 
have  a  principle  like  that  of  "Karma,"  by  which  every  act  has 
its  fruition,  whether  of  good  or  of  evil.  In  one  sense  this  is  true, 
and  yet  as  thus  stated  it  is  likely  to  convey  a  false  idea.  For- 
giveness is  in  some  sense  or  other  the  remittance  of  penalty.  Now 
in  analyzing  the  nature  of  penalty  and  asking  what  are  its  ele- 
ments, we  have  found  that  it  involves  first  of  all  what  may  be 
called  the  natural  result  of  sin.1  I  use  the  term  "natural"  in 
the  absence  of  a  better  word,  for  in  a  certain  sense  all  the  results 
of  sin  are  natural;  I  use  it  with  reference  to  the  more  external 
and  superficial  results  of  sin  as  they  are  found  in  the  nature  of 
the  individual  who  sins.  We  have  many  examples  of  this  ele- 
ment of  penalty,  especially  in  the  relation  of  human  life  to  the 
external  world.  Nature  speaking  through  her  various  laws  says 
to  us,  not  "Thou  must"  or  "Thou  shalt,"  but  only  "If  thou 
doest  this,  thou  shalt  suffer  the  penalty."  Thus  the  man  who 
transgresses  natural  laws  by  taking  insufficient  nourishment 
suffers  in  one  direction,  and  if  he  transgresses  them  in  his  use  of 
intoxicating  liquors,  he  suffers  in  another  direction,  and  so  on. 
As  yet  no  ethical  element  is  involved ;  we  have  to  do  simply  with 
laws  of  nature  which  exact  their  own  penalty  from  those  who 
transgress  them.  But  here  we  have  also  that  which  may  serve 
as  an  illustration  of  forgiveness,  the  recuperative  power  of  nature. 
The  individual  in  transgressing  the  natural  law  has  incurred  its 
i  Page  296. 


FORGIVENESS  451 

penalty,  but  although  the  law  enforces  itself  irrevocably,  it  is  as 
though  there  were  at  the  heart  of  nature  a  sort  of  love  by  which 
she  attempts  to  soften  and  remove  the  effects  of  the  transgression. 
There  is  something  marvellous  in  these  restorative  processes. 
Some  of  the  penalties  are  removed  very  promptly,  as  in  the 
speedy  healing  of  cuts  or  other  wounds  in  a  healthy  body.  In 
other  cases  the  results  may  disappear  more  slowly,  and  in  still 
others  not  at  all. 

I  have  spoken  of  these  processes  as  constituting  forgiveness, 
because  we  see  in  them  the  attempt  at  the  removal,  or  it  may 
be  the  actual  removal,  of  the  penalty  of  transgression.  But 
these  violations  of  the  laws  of  nature  may  from  a  higher  point 
of  view  become  sin.  A  man's  body  is  his  instrument  for  doing 
the  work  which  he  has  been  placed  in  the  world  to  do,  and  if 
through  intoxication  or  in  other  ways  he  disables  his  body,  he  is 
guilty  of  sin  just  as  much  as  the  carpenter's  apprentice  who  wil- 
fully abuses  the  tools  with  which  he  is  set  to  work.  In  consider- 
ing the  natural  results  of  transgression  from  this  higher  point  of 
view,  weaknesses  of  will  are  to  be  taken  into  account  as  well  as 
infirmities  of  the  body,  and  with  the  change  in  the  nature  of  the 
transgression  another  element  enters  into  the  penalty.  Take 
transgression  in  the  use  of  intoxicating  liquors.  It  becomes  a 
sin  because  the  man  unfits  himself  for  his  duty  toward  his  own 
family  and  for  his  share  in  the  general  work  of  society.  He  be- 
comes a  burden  and  an  infliction  instead  of  a  help.  He  sets  an 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  development  of  his  own  nature.  As 
the  natural  result  of  his  transgression  he  becomes  a  wreck.  But 
here  enters  the  second  element  in  the  penalty.  So  long  as  he 
continues  to  surrender  himself  to  the  power  of  this  sin,  he  is  to 
a  certain  extent  an  outcast,  even  from  the  noblest  affection  of  his 
own  family.  His  wife  may  continue  to  love  him,  but  her  love 
will  be  no  longer  a  wifely  love  but  rather  that  of  a  sorrowing, 
pitying  mother,  and  that  which  changes  the  form  of  her  love 
changes  the  feeling  toward  him  in  society  to  aversion  or  contempt. 
Now  if  the  man  reforms,  there  is  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  nature 
to  remove  the  effects  of  the  penalty,  and  this  attempt  may  or 


452  FORGIVENESS 

may  not  be  successful.  The  wasted  body  may  become  in  part, 
perhaps  wholly,  strong  again,  the  weak  will,  by  its  very  effort  to 
overcome  the  temptation,  may  gather  strength,  and  the  man  may 
again  become  useful ;  or  on  the  other  hand  recovery  like  this  may 
have  become  impossible,  so  that  the  man  remains  a  wreck.  But 
even  so,  although  the  physical  penalties  of  his  transgression  can- 
not be  removed,  his  reformation  has  brought  about  a  change  in 
the  attitude  of  his  family  and  of  society.  He  has  once  more  the 
old  love  from  the  heart  of  his  wife  and  children,  and  the  sym- 
pathy and  respect  of  society.  He  is  no  longer  an  outcast.  So 
far  as  his  relation  to  his  household  and  to  society  is  concerned,  he 
is  forgiven. 

This  illustration  may  have  made  clearer  why  I  hesitated  to 
use  the  term  "natural"  of  any  one  kind  of  penalty.  For  the 
exclusion  of  the  drunkard  from  the  sympathy  of  those  about  him 
is  as  natural  a  result  of  his  transgression  as  the  wrecking  of  his 
bodily  health,  and  the  return  of  men's  respect  for  him  when  he 
has  reformed  is  also  a  natural  result  of  such  a  change.  Still 
the  process,  especially  so  far  as  forgiveness  is  concerned,  depends 
so  largely  upon  volition  that  we  are  justified  in  placing  it  in  a 
somewhat  different  category.  There  are  men  of  a  certain  hard- 
ness of  heart  or  coldness  of  purpose  who  refuse  to  forgive  a  fall 
of  this  sort.  Let  a  man  once  have  been  a  drunkard  and  their 
sympathies  are  closed  against  him  forever.  They  are  like  the 
elder  son  in  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son ;  the  father  welcomes 
the  repentant  prodigal  to  his  home  again  with  joy,  but  the  elder 
brother  looks  coldly  on.1 

When  we  consider  the  relation  of  men  to  God  we  find  the  same 
elements.  We  have  as  before  the  natural  element  in  both  the 
penalty  and  the  forgiveness  of  the  transgression,  and  also  the 
element  of  the  spiritual  relation.  Just  as  between  man  and 
man,  so  also  between  man  and  God  the  spiritual  relation  can- 
not be  the  same  while  the  man  continues  in  his  sin  that  it  is  after 
he  has  repented.  It  is  with  God  and  man  as  it  is  with  a  wise 
earthly  father  and  his  child.  When  the  child  does  wrong,  the 
father  does  not  fly  into  a  violent  rage,  nor  does  he,  as  soon  as  the 
iLuke,  xv,  11-32. 


FORGIVENESS  453 

child  repents,  give  way  to  a  paroxysm  of  joy;  nevertheless  the 
relation  in  which  the  father  stands  toward  the  child  when  it  is 
disobedient  is  necessarily  different  from  the  relation  that  is  pos- 
sible when  the  child  is  repentant  and  loving.  For  the  complete 
flow  of  love  requires  two  poles  that  are  in  connection  with  one 
another;  there  must  be  a  return  as  well  as  an  outflow,  and  the 
outflow  is  checked  if  there  is  no  return.  Love  may  be  present, 
but  it  is  under  constraint  and  cannot  manifest  itself  as  it  would 
under  other  circumstances.  In  a  similar  way,  although  we  may 
believe  that  the  divine  love  watches  and  follows  the  whole  of 
life,  and  that  the  divine  insight  measures  not  by  any  momentary 
act  or  state  but  sees  the  nature  and  the  tendency  that  are  under 
all,  yet  even  this  divine  love  must  manifest  itself  differently,  the 
relation  between  it  and  the  life  of  the  individual  must  be  different, 
when  that  life  is  open  to  receive  it,  and  gives  forth  its  own  love 
in  return. 

It  may  be  urged  that  in  all  this  there  is  nothing  that  can  prop- 
erly be  called  forgiveness,  but  that  the  process  is  all  natural.  But 
it  will  be  seen  that  our  method  of  judgment  is  different;  the  man 
is  looked  upon  as  weighed  rather  than  measured.  For  the  idea 
of  judgment  is  too  often  that  of  measurement,  the  counting  up 
of  a  man's  deeds.  When  I  say  that  here  we  are  considering  the 
man  as  weighed,  I  mean  that  we  are  thinking  of  him  as  judged 
not  for  what  he  has  done,  but  for  what  he  is;  whatever  fineness 
of  nature,  whatever  true  tendencies  there  may  be  underneath 
the  different  deeds,  these  will  appear  in  the  weighing.  We  may 
even  carry  the  figure  a  little  further  and  say  that  since  weight 
is  the  manifestation  of  the  attraction  of  any  body  to  the  world 
of  which  it  is  a  part,  so  character  is  the  manifestation  of  the 
attraction  of  the  individual  nature  to  the  absolute  realities  of 
the  universe.  Furthermore,  in  these  higher  spiritual  relations 
we  have  to  do  with  spirit,  and  however  irregular  its  manifesta- 
tions may  be,  we  must  recognize  them  as  spiritual  and  voluntary 
rather  than  natural.  The  fact  that  a  father  always  provides 
for  his  children  is  very  different  from  the  fact  that  the  tree  or  the 
field  to  which  they  look  for  support  always  bears  fruit.     For  even 


454  FORGIVENESS 

if  there  is  necessity  in  the  ease  of  the  father,  that  necessity  passes 
through  the  channel  of  the  will,  and,  as  we  have  seen,1  there  is  a 
power  of  will  by  which  a  man  may  yield  himself  more  or  less 
perfectly  to  the  fundamental  laws  of  his  being  and  the  relations 
in  which  he  stands.  So  that  the  return  of  the  spirit  into  these 
higher  relations,  into  the  relation  of  love  to  a  father,  into  abso- 
lute union  with  God,  may  rightly  be  called  forgiveness.  It  is 
true  that  as  a  man  soweth  so  also  shall  he  reap;  there  is  no  caprice 
in  the  government  of  the  universe.  But  the  absence  of  caprice 
does  not  imply  the  absence  of  spiritual  activity. 

There  remains  the  important  question  whether  a  spirit  that 
has  sinned  can  ever  make  up  for  its  sin,  the  question  whether 
forgiveness  is  so  absolute  that  the  individual  life  shall  be  as  well 
off  ultimately  as  though  the  sin  had  not  been  committed.  There 
are  some  who  maintain  that  the  loss  by  sin  is  never  made  up 
through  all  the  eternal  life  of  the  spirit,  that  the  ground  once  lost 
can  never  be  regained.  There  are  others  who  insist  that  in  for- 
giveness the  soul  is  taken  into  a  more  intimate  relation  with  God 
and  reaches  loftier  heights  than  if  the  sin  had  never  been  com- 
mitted; according  to  a  phrase  that  often  appears  in  theologies 
and  in  hymns,  the  redeemed  have  a  joy  of  which  the  angels  know 
nothing,  the  joy  in  the  consciousness  of  sins  forgiven.  The 
question  is  one  of  those  which  are  interesting  to  contemplate, 
but  which  perhaps  we  need  not  attempt  to  answer  dogmati- 
cally. Without  laying  down  any  absolute  principle,  we  may 
notice  that  in  many  cases  a  fall  does  appear  to  lead  to  gain.  The 
individual  is  stung  by  his  own  transgression  into  such  a  sense  of 
the  evil  of  sin  that  he  recoils  from  it  as  he  might  not  have  done 
otherwise,  and  he  may  experience  an  exaltation  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  freedom  and  of  forgiveness  which  otherwise  he  might 
not  have  known.  It  may  even  happen  that  only  through  sin 
do  certain  spirits  come  to  recognize  fully  the  reality  of  God's 
existence  and  the  power  of  the  moral  law;  there  are  those  who 
must  be  driven  against  a  wall  in  order  to  realize  its  existence  and 
feel  the  recoil.  With  this  in  mind  we  can  understand  the  lofty 
utterances  in  the  New  Testament  in  regard  to  the  "  joy  in  heaven 
i  Page  229. 


REGENERATION  455 

over  one  sinner  that  repenteth,  more  than  over  ninety  and  nine 
righteous  persons,  which  need  no  repentance."  l 

Is  not  all  this,  however,  contrary  to  the  principles  of  ethics  ? 
I  think  we  have  already  recognized  the  fact  that  the  universe  is 
not  governed  ethically,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term.  We 
have  seen  that  ethics  is  only  an  intermediate  stage,  and  that  a 
wise  and  earnest  love  is  greater  than  morality.  The  universe  is 
fundamentally  not  an  ethical  but  a  spiritual  universe,  governed 
by  spiritual  laws,  not  by  ethical  laws.  We  have  in  it  not  a  sys- 
tem of  pedagogy  but  the  outflow  and  inflow  of  the  spiritual  life. 
It  is,  if  I  may  use  the  phrase,  not  the  working  but  the  play  of 
life.  The  ethical  pedant  may  criticise  such  statements  as  these 
that  we  have  been  making,  but  we  may  still  rejoice  that  the  uni- 
verse is  the  manifestation  of  the  spiritual  life,  and  that  this  life 
is  higher  than  all  the  laws  that  are  made  merely  to  render  life 
under  certain  circumstances  easier  of  fulfilment.  And  we  may 
be  sure  that  there  is  in  the  heart  of  the  individual  himself,  in 
the  heart  even  of  the  sinner,  something  which  responds  to  this 
power  of  the  spiritual  life  more  readily  than  to  the  laying  down 
of  ethical  principles.  Therefore  it  seems  to  me  that  religious 
feeling  may  recognize  the  fact  not  only  that  there  is  forgive- 
ness in  the  universe,  but  that  forgiveness  may  be  absolute.  The 
state  of  the  soul  that  had  sinned  and  been  forgiven  would  be 
different  from  what  it  would  have  been,  had  not  the  sin  been 
committed,  but  the  difference  might  be  only  a  new  quality  in  the 
joy  in  the  higher  life  upon  which  the  soul  had  entered. 

In  considering  the  subject  of  regeneration  theologians  have  often 
treated  it  as  part  of  a  process  in  which  there  are  various  stages 
described  by  certain  technical  terms.  There  is  the  "divine 
call,"  resting  upon  the  "election"  of  the  individual  soul;  then 
there  is  the  "awakening,"  in  which  the  individual  is  aroused 
from  a  state  of  indifference;  then  follow  his  "conversion,"  in 
which  he  is  turned  toward  the  higher  life,  and  his  "  justification," 
in  the  sense  in  which  Paul  uses  the  term;  finally  "regeneration" 
plants  the  new  life  in  the  soul,  and  is  followed  by  "sanctification," 

1  Luke,  xv,  7. 


456  REGENERATION 

the  assumption  of  the  just  life  which  crowns  the  whole  process. 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  follow  the  line  of  these  technical  terms, 
but  shall  speak  of  regeneration  simply  as  a  great  fact  or  great 
possibility  in  human  life.  I  shall  perhaps  make  the  whole  ques- 
tion more  real  if  I  ask  whether  any  of  you  can  recall  absolutely 
and  distinctly  the  case  of  a  person  who  you  knew  had  been  in 
any  sense  of  the  term  converted,  and  if  so,  in  what  you  believe 
the  change  in  him  consisted.  Up  to  a  certain  point  we  no  doubt 
can  easily  recall  such  examples,  using  the  term  "conversion" 
not  in  a  technical  sense  and  not  in  a  specifically  religious  sense, 
but  in  relation  to  the  life  of  the  individual  generally.  Thus  we 
have  known  men  who  had  been  intemperate  who  have  reformed. 
Reformation  is  familiar  to  us.  But  the  question  goes  deeper 
than  reformation,  that  is,  a  reformation  in  external  morality. 
Regeneration  involves  a  change  in  the  heart,  a  change  by  which 
a  selfish  person  becomes  loving,  or  a  thoughtless  and  indifferent 
person  becomes  thoughtful.  Now  we  recognize  that  changes 
of  this  sort  do  take  place.  There  is,  for  example,  a  certain 
ripening  in  life,  as  time  goes  on,  which  must  be  granted  without 
any  hesitation  or  discussion.  I  remember  having  seen  once 
a  criticism  upon  Dickens's  novels  in  relation  to  this  very  point. 
Writing  from  a  point  of  view  not  uncommon  in  our  day,  which 
assumes  the  invariableness  of  character,  the  critic  said  that  it 
was  a  great  mistake  to  represent  a  man  so  cold  and  selfish  as 
Mr.  Dombey  is  in  his  middle  life  as  undergoing  the  transforma- 
tion by  which  he  becomes  in  old  age  a  rather  thoughtful  and 
kindly  person.  But  the  transformation  in  Mr.  Dombey  is  of 
a  sort  which  those  who  have  seen  much  of  the  world  must  often 
have  found.  The  change  may  be  one  of  environment,  but  even 
so  it  manifests  itself  as  a  change  in  the  individual.  Further- 
more, the  change  is  often  of  such  a  kind  that  the  man  who  has 
been  indifferent  to  spiritual  things,  and  has  lived  a  worldly  and 
selfish  life,  becomes  a  believer  in  religion.  In  such  cases,  how- 
ever, the  change  may  be  only  superficial;  the  religion  of  the 
selfish  man  may  be  selfish,  and  the  religion  of  the  worldly  man 
may  be  and  often  is  worldly.     We  have  to  go  behind  external 


REGENERATION  457 

changes,  and  ask  whether  the  heart  of  the  man  is  changed; 
has  the  mean  man  become  generous,  and  the  selfish  man  loving, 
and  the  hard  man  tender?  For  myself,  although  I  might  find 
it  difficult  fairly  to  defend  my  position  even  by  examples,  so  much 
does  the  whole  question  have  to  do  with  that  which  lies  below 
the  surface  of  ordinary  experience,  I  have  a  faith,  or  trust,  or 
hope,  that  such  change  may  take  place,  and  that  there  often  may 
be  in  this  profound  sense  a  new  birth  of  the  human  soul. 

Such  a  change  of  heart  is  equivalent  to  a  fresh  start  in  life. 
It  may  be  recognized  as  the  yielding  of  allegiance  to  the  highest 
that  the  individual  knows.  The  question  how  high  this  highest 
is,  is  of  less  account  than  the  fact  that  the  individual  gives  him- 
self to  his  highest,  whatever  that  may  be.  Thus  it  is  that  we  may 
find  conversion  and  regeneration  in  any  religion  that  is  worthy 
of  the  name.  For  every  religion  which  is  in  any  way  worthy 
offers  to  its  followers  something  higher  than  their  ordinary  life, 
and  when  the  individual  yields  himself  to  this,  he  yields  himself 
to  the  highest  that  he  knows.  Here  we  have  the  explanation 
of  the  wonderful  fact  which  to  many  seems  at  first  so  mysterious, 
and  which  in  some  minds  raises  doubt  in  regard  to  the  whole 
question,  that  under  such  different  forms  of  faith  there  may  be 
a  like  process  of  conversion.  Thus  Christendom  is  broken  up 
into  numerous  sects,  and  each  sect  claims  that  it  has  to  some 
extent  a  monopoly  of  truth.  Yet  we  find  that  in  all  alike  the 
religious  experience  is  exalted;  there  is  a  unity  among  them  all 
in  this  regard,  in  spite  of  the  differences  in  form.  And  what  is 
true  of  Christianity  is  true  in  some  respects  of  other  religions 
also.  I  have  told  elsewhere  in  a  similar  connection,  but  with  a 
different  emphasis,  the  story  of  the  boy  who  sold  the  neighbors 
tickets  to  his  mother's  garden  in  order  that  they  might  enter  it 
to  see  the  eclipse.1  The  illustration  has  its  serious  and  positive 
aspect.  It  may  often  happen  that  the  soul  does  not  lift  its  eyes 
to  the  heavens  until  it  has  passed  inside  the  gates  of  some  par- 
ticular religion  or  sect.  Not  that  all  religions  are  equal,  or  that 
any  one  can  accomplish  as  much  for  the  spirit  as  any  other.2 

1  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  107.  2  Page  335. 


458  REGENERATION 

Although  the  process  of  conversion  may  be  the  same  in  all,  al- 
though all  may  have  doors  which  open  into  the  one  great  temple, 
that  which  claims  the  allegiance  of  the  spirit  as  highest  in  one 
may  be  higher  than  the  highest  in  another.  Christianity  has 
this  great  advantage,  that  it  makes  the  process  of  conversion 
easier  in  causing  it  to  be  in  some  respects  more  attractive;  it 
offers  a  fuller  spiritual  life,  which  grows  out  of  a  more  profound 
insight  and  a  larger  knowledge.  Furthermore,  in  Christianity 
the  ideal  to  which  the  soul  surrenders  itself  is  really  an  ideal, 
manifesting  itself  under  the  form  of  a  perfect  spiritual  life,  in 
the  person  of  Jesus.  In  all  these  various  ways  Christianity  has 
a  power  which  is  lacking  to  other  religions. 

The  conversion  which  manifests  itself  in  newness  of  life  is  first 
of  all  a  transition  from  selfishness  to  love.  This  is  a  regeneration 
that  must  take  place  at  some  time,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
in  every  individual.  For  the  infant  is  the  centre  of  his  world,  its 
king.  If  he  continues  to  live  in  this  relation  with  the  universe, 
he  must  become  a  selfish  youth,  a  selfish  man.  But  he  must  pass 
out  of  this  relation,  and  the  transition  may  be  made  uncon- 
sciously, or  it  may  cost  more  or  less  of  conscious  effort  and 
struggle.  It  is  as  though  a  world  that  hitherto  had  turned  only 
about  its  own  axis  should  finally  yield  itself  to  the  attracting  power 
of  the  central  sun,  and  swing  out  into  the  circling  orbit  of  its 
greater  course.  But,  secondly,  conversion  is  a  change  from  caprice 
to  principle.  If  it  were  necessary  for  me  to  describe  in  a  single 
phrase  the  straight  and  narrow  way  "that  leadeth  unto  life,"  I 
am  not  sure  that  I  should  not  make  it  this, — the  acceptance  of 
some  principle  as  the  rule  of  life.  A  principle  is  that  from  which 
one  can  start  and  to  which  one  can  return.  It  does  not  forbid  the 
play  of  life.  No  life  is  cast-iron;  play  there  must  be  in  it,  and 
chance.  But  now  the  dice  are  loaded,  for  whereas  the  man  was 
before  indifferent,  now  he  is  on  the  side  of  the  better  life.  In 
Christianity  this  principle  is,  as  I  have  just  said,  the  ideal  that  is 
manifested  in  the  life  of  Jesus.  Finally,  conversion  is  a  transi- 
tion from  the  material  to  the  spiritual;  the  soul  is  brought  into 
conscious  relation  to  the  infinite  spirit.     This  is  conversion  in 


REGENERATION  459 

its  highest  form,  its  culmination.  With  it  there  comes  the  life  of 
faith  and  obedience,  and  of  joy  in  the  Holy  Spirit.  These  transi- 
tions, this  process,  by  which  the  soul  rises  from  a  lower  to  a  higher 
state,  may  take  place  again  and  again.  The  religious  life  is 
like  a  stairway  in  which,  as  we  ascend,  each  new  step  may  be 
considered  as  in  a  certain  sense  a  conversion  or  regeneration.  Yet 
at  the  same  time  there  may  be,  and  perhaps  must  be,  some  first  or 
more  important  step,  when  the  individual  life  turns  its  face  in 
the  direction  in  which  henceforth  it  is  to  move.  Whether  this 
step  is  taken  consciously  or  unconsciously  will  depend  largely 
upon  circumstances.  In  the  family  life  there  comes  unquestion- 
ably a  moment  at  which  the  child  begins  to  surrender  self,  to 
abdicate  his  royalty.  Yet  the  child  who  is  well  brought  up  prob- 
ably is  never  conscious  of  this  moment;  the  change  takes  place 
naturally  as  part  of  a  general  development.  But  the  question  is 
one  in  regard  to  which  we  may  not  dogmatize  in  either  direction. 
How  is  conversion  to  be  produced  ?  The  difficulty  lies  in  the 
fact  that  what  we  are  seeking  is  not  merely  reform  but  regeneration, 
not  merely  a  change  in  the  outward  life  but  a  change  of  heart. 
A  change  of  heart  implies  that  a  man  loves  what  before  he  did 
not  love,  and  hates  what  he  did  not  hate.  A  man  may  change 
his  methods  and  the  outward  forms  of  his  life,  but  one's  heart 
would  seem  to  be  beyond  one's  power  to  change.  The  difficulty 
is  so  great  that  Schopenhauer  insists  that  while  a  man  may  change 
his  opinion,  his  intellectual  view  of  things,  he  can  never  change 
his  disposition.  He  illustrates  this  by  saying  that  a  man  will 
laugh  over  mistakes  which  he  may  have  committed  in  the  past, 
but  none  likes  to  be  reminded  of  a  past  act  of  meanness  because 
he  feels  that  such  acts  tell  against  him  in  the  present.  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  Nicodemus  may  have  been  dealt  with  rather 
unfairly  by  some  of  the  commentators  in  taking  it  for  granted  that 
when  he  asks  how  a  man  can  be  born  when  he  is  old,  he  shows 
himself  so  obtuse  and  dull.1  It  is  assumed  that  Nicodemus  is 
speaking  only  of  the  external,  bodily  birth  while  Jesus  is  speaking 
of  the  spiritual  birth.  But  it  is  possible  to  suppose  that  Nico- 
demus also  was  speaking  figuratively,  and  that  he  was  only  urging 
i  John,  iii,  1-21. 


460  PRAYER 

upon  Jesus  the  fundamental  difficulty  in  the  case,  the  difficulty 
which  must  always  present  itself  whenever,  to  use  a  phrase  current 
just  now,  "the  man  needs  to  be  made  over  and  to  be  made  dif- 
ferently." 

I  recognize  thoroughly  all  the  difficulties.  As  I  speak,  I  re- 
member how  I  once  heard  an  orthodox  preacher  insist  that  the 
orthodox  were  really  more  liberal  than  the  so-called  liberals, 
because  it  was  so  common  among  liberals  to  deny  the  possibility 
of  such  a  change  as  is  implied  in  regeneration,  whereas  this  possi- 
bility was  a  fundamental  element  in  orthodox  belief.  Perhaps, 
therefore,  I  shall  not  be  suspected  of  underestimating  the  diffi- 
culties when  I  say  that  as  we  consider  the  matter  more  closely, 
we  must  see  that  they  are  after  all  more  verbal  than  real.  For 
man  is  not  a  unit.  He  has  many  various  tendencies,  and  he  does 
not  advance  evenly  all  along  the  line.  Thus  no  man,  we  may 
assume,  no  normal  individual  life,  is  wholly  selfish;  in  every  man 
there  is,  if  not  some  beginning  of  the  higher  life,  at  least  the  germ 
of  that  higher  life,  the  germ  of  unselfishness,  waiting  only  for  the 
impulse  that  shall  develop  it.  Therefore  the  change  that  takes 
place  in  conversion  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  an  absolute  change 
of  nature  in  the  individual  life.  What  is  already  higher  in  the 
life  lifts  that  which  is  lower,  and  the  germs  of  that  which  is  higher 
are  stimulated  to  activity  by  new  influences,  while  behind  all  is 
the  mighty  spiritual  power  of  God.  From  this  point  of  view, 
although  we  need  not  be  surprised  when  conversion  takes  place 
suddenly,  still  we  should  expect  that  more  usually  and  more  nat- 
urally the  change  of  front  would  proceed  somewhat  slowly,  as 
the  powers  and  tendencies  germinated  and  developed  and  thus 
the  whole  nature  ripened.  Even  when  the  impulse  might  have 
come  in  some  one  moment,  still  the  results  would  usually  appear 
in  the  processes  of  this  gradual  development. 

The  subject  of  prayer  is  one  which  on  some  accounts  I  should 
prefer  not  to  consider  in  an  examination  such  as  we  are  making. 
It  seems  to  me  not  to  enter  naturally  and  fittingly  into  theological 
discussion.  For  prayer  should  be  simply  the  natural  expression 
of  the  spiritual  life  at  that  stage,  whatever  it  may  be,  at  which  the 


PRAYER  461 

soul  finds  itself.     Whatever  the  religious  standpoint  of  a  man 
may  be,  he  should  be  left  to  himself  to  express  his  spiritual  life 
naturally.     If  his  religion  does  not  impel  him  to  pray,  then  prayer 
will  be  for  him  artificial  unless  indeed  it  be  the  prayer  for  prayer. 
Fundamentally,  in  a  large  sense,  prayer  is  communion  between 
the  soul  and  its  divinity.     Communion  implies  sympathy,  and  if 
sympathy  is  present,  it  makes  little  difference  what  is  actually 
said  or  thought.     You  may  meet  a  man  and  say  to  him  merely 
that  the  day  is  fine,  but  if  you  have  said  it  with  sympathy,  you  have 
had  communion  with  him.     On  the  other  hand  you  may  have 
talked  long  with  him  and  on  high  topics,  but  if  it  has  been  without 
sympathy,  there  has  been  no  communion.     The  sympathy  need 
not  find  utterance  at  all.     Animals  do  not  talk,  and  yet  they  like 
to  be  together,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  sit  by  one's  friend,  though  he 
and  you  may  speak  no  word  to  each  other  for  many  minutes. 
Now  if  we  raise  all  this  to  the  highest  point,  it  may  help  to  show 
what  communion  is  like  between  man  and  God,  and  it  will  be 
seen  that  given  the  communion,  the  sympathy,  the  form  or  sub- 
ject of  one's  prayer  will  matter  little;   the  soul  may  be  trusted  to 
pour  itself  out  in  its   sense  of   sympathy  and    submission.     The 
poor  serving-woman  who  can  understand  hardly  a  word  of  the 
Latin  service  has  the  sense  of  the  divine  presence  and  lays  open 
before  it  her  life  with  all  its  needs.     When  the  prayer  does  seek 
utterance  and  takes  shape  in  words,  these  words  will  be  such  as 
most    naturally   suggest   themselves.     Of   course   there   may   be 
some  differences  in  form  between  the  prayer  of  public  worship 
and  that  of  private  devotion,  but  whatever  they  are,  they  should 
not  interfere  with  naturalness  of  expression.     Whether  the  prayer 
of  public  worship  takes  the  form  prescribed  by  some  ritual,  or  is 
extempore,  will  depend  upon  the  preferences  of  individual  minds. 
The   liturgical  prayer  is   more  universal,   the   extempore   prayer 
more  particular;    liturgical  forms  tend  to   develop  a  general   re- 
ligious sense,  the  extempore  prayer  tends  rather  to  call  forth  inten- 
sity of  feeling  in  a  few. 

If  we  turn  now  to  the  more  definite  aspects  of  prayer,  we  may 
consider  first  the   element   of  worship  or   praise.     This  element 


462  PRAYER 

has  been  sharply  criticised;  we  offer  to  God,  it  is  said,  what  we 
would  not  offer  to  a  man.  But  we  must  look  at  prayer  from  the 
human  rather  than  from  the  divine  side.  Whether  God  needs 
such  praise  is  one  question,  and  whether  man  needs  to  offer  it 
is  quite  another  question.  There  are  moments  of  warmth  and 
enthusiasm  in  which  we  do  not  hesitate  to  express  to  our  friends 
our  praise  of  them,  moments  when  we  cannot  restrain  ourselves 
but  have  to  give  utterance  to  our  feeling  toward  them,  and  this 
is  not  flattery,  but  only  the  natural  outpouring  of  our  love  and 
appreciation.  So  it  is  in  prayer.  It  is  one  of  the  ways  by 
which  man  climbs  upward,  and  when  in  his  love  and  adoration 
he  utters  his  praise  to  God,  that  praise  is  not  meant  to  influence 
God;  it  influences  the  man  himself;  it  helps  to  keep  before  him, 
to  fix  in  his  mind  and  heart,  the  object  of  his  devotion.  It  is 
interesting  to  notice  that  even  in  Comte's  religion  of  humanity 
prayer  had  an  important  place.  Every  day  had  its  saint,  and  the 
prayer  consisted  in  the  repetition  of  the  virtues  of  the  saint  and 
the  desire  that  they  might  be  fulfilled  in  the  life  of  the  worship- 
per. There  was  no  response  from  the  saint  who  was  thus  wor- 
shipped, but  there  was  believed  to  be  an  inspiring  effect  upon  the 
worshipper. 

The  element  of  petition  presents  greater  difficulties.  If  God 
knows  all,  and  does  all  for  the  best,  may  we  not  trust  to  his  guid- 
ance at  least  as  much  as  we  do  to  the  guidance  of  men  ?  And  if 
"prayer  moves  the  hand  that  guides  the  world,"  what  are  we  that 
we  should  grasp  at  the  rein  in  the  hand  of  the  skilful  driver  ?  But 
it  may  be  said  in  answer,  first  of  all,  that  prayer  changes  the 
conditions;  God  causes  the  grain  in  the  field  to  grow  and  ripen,  but 
man  plants  the  field  and  chooses  what  kind  of  grain  it  shall  bear. 
Petition  is  of  three  kinds:  the  prayer  for  spiritual  blessings  for 
ourselves,  the  prayer  for  spiritual  blessings  for  others,  and  the 
prayer  for  material  blessings  for  ourselves  or  others.  The  first 
kind  of  petition,  the  prayer  for  spiritual  blessings  for  ourselves, 
we  may  recognize  as  distinctly  a  condition  to  the  end  desired;  it 
is  the  opening  of  the  heart,  the  natural  method  by  which  the  gift 
may  be  received.     From  the  point  of  view  of  the  understanding, 


PRAYER  463 

prayer  must  inevitably  be  its  own  answer,  for  when  the  heart  is 
ready  for  good,  good  must  enter  as  it  were  by  a  certain  divine 
necessity.  But  if  we  grant  the  truth  of  religion,  this  sort  of  pe- 
tition and  its  fulfilment  appear  in  a  higher  aspect.  The  response 
of  spirit  to  spirit  may  indeed  be  as  inevitable  as  any  action  and 
reaction  in  the  natural  world,  but  the  method  is  different.  Be- 
cause the  response  is  regular,  it  is  not  therefore  mechanical. 
The  spiritual  acts  voluntarily. 

The  question  is  somewhat  harder  when  we  turn  to  the  petition 
for  spiritual  blessings  for  others.  God  must  know  their  needs; 
it  is  the  human  spirit,  not  the  divine,  which  requires  to  be 
prompted;  and  such  petition  is  not  obviously  a  condition  of  the 
fulfilment  of  that  which  is  desired.  But  here  we  must  do  as  we 
have  done  before, — apply  the  test  of  religion  itself  to  our  theories, 
and  if  our  theories  do  not  bear  the  test,  sorrow  for  them,  if  possible 
change  them,  but  at  all  events  resist  the  temptation  to  cut  our 
religion  to  fit  our  theories.  Now  our  truest  spiritual  life  leads  us 
to  pray  for  others.  We  may  explain  this  as  justified  simply  by 
the  effect  which  the  intense  thought  and  feeling  of  one  person  has 
upon  another.  But  from  the  point  of  view  of  religion,  is  there 
not  more  ?  Is  it  not  true  that  as  the  mother  gives  utterance  in 
prayer  to  her  longing  for  her  child's  good,  her  heart  is  opened, 
so  that  the  influence  which  she  exerts  upon  the  child  becomes 
not  merely  that  of  her  own  desire  and  will,  but  also  that  of  the 
divine  presence  itself?  The  bit  of  steel  that  is  charged  by  a 
magnet  becomes  powerful  to  charge  other  bits  of  steel.  In  such 
petition  what  we  have  is  not  the  human  will  making  the  divine 
will  follow  its  desire,  but  the  divine  will  making  the  human  will 
its  instrument. 

In  the  prayer  for  material  blessings,  whether  for  ourselves  or 
for  others,  the  connection  between  the  petition  and  the  fulfilment 
is  far  less  obvious.  All  the  tests  that  have  been  suggested  are  very 
superficial.  Thus  Tyndall  proposed  as  a  prayer-gauge  by  which 
the  petition  for  material  blessing  should  be  submitted  to  scientific 
test,  that  two  wards  should  be  set  apart  in  a  hospital,  in  one  of 
which  the  patients  should  be  treated  by  physicians  in  the  usual 


464  PRAYER 

way,  while  in  the  other  ward  they  should  simply  be  prayed  for. 
But  Tyndall  here  fell  into  an  error  common  with  scientists  when 
dealing  with  questions  of  religion  or  metaphysics.  He  did  not 
recognize  the  spiritual  nature  of  prayer,  and  failed  to  see  that  in 
this  experiment  that  he  proposed  the  conditions  would  be  such 
that  the  prayer  offered  would  not  be  prayer  at  all.  It  would  not 
be  the  expression  of  personal  desire,  but  the  demand  that  God 
should  display  his  power.  The  fact  is  that  there  is  no  test  that  can 
be  applied.  The  question  is  not  whether  prayer  is  a  good  irri- 
gator or  fertilizer,  but  whether  it  is  a  real  power.  If  a  man  be- 
lieves that  it  is,  then  let  him  pray  as  he  wishes,  spontaneously  and 
freely.  The  sense  of  the  stability  of  the  laws  of  the  universe  grows 
upon  us.  Yet,  as  I  have  said  before,  the  harvest  does  not  depend 
solely  upon  natural  laws.  Furthermore,  the  power  to  make  the 
best  of  things,  with  all  that  it  involves,  is  a  spiritual  power,  and 
he  who  loves  God  and  communes  with  him,  and  submits  his  will 
to  the  divine  will,  is  like  the  ship  that  takes  advantage  of  any 
winds  that  blow;  he  is  in  a  position  to  accept  and  use  whatever 
comes.  Finally,  whatever  else  we  recognize,  we  must  not  forget 
that  prayer  is  first  of  all  communion,  and  that  with  every  true 
prayer  of  the  individual  soul,  the  heart  of  the  world  is  lifted 
nearer  to  God. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

immortality. — the  argument  from  reappearance:  from 
analogy:  from  physico-psychological  phenomena: 
from  the  unity  of  consciousness. — the  philosophico- 
teleological  argument. — the  ethical  argument. — the 
argument  from  the  sense  of  the  ideal:  from  the 
consciousness  of  god:  from  man's  instinctive  faith. 
— difficulties:  immortality  of  animals:  pre-existence : 
question  of  selfishness. — nature  of  the  future  life. 
— the  argument  for  religion  of  personal  experi- 
ence.— sixth   and  final  definition  of  religion. 

Whenever  the  subject  of  immortality  is  considered,  the  ques- 
tion as  to  the  reality  of  life  after  death,  it  is  the  habit  of  our  time 
to  ask  for  proof.  Men  ask  for  a  demonstration  of  immortality 
as  they  ask  for  a  demonstration  of  the  existence  or  being  of  God. 
This  questioning  and  doubt  of  the  present  day  are  more  serious 
than  such  doubt  has  been  for  the  most  part  in  other  ages.  There 
has  always  been  more  or  less  of  superficial  skepticism,  but  the 
skepticism  of  today  is  based  upon  larger  considerations  than  in 
former  times,  and  is  more  profound  and  more  reverent. 

I  have  already  reminded  you  that  religion  is  not  a  matter  of 
demonstration  but  of  faith.  This  principle  in  its  relation  to  the 
doctrine  of  immortality  is  well  stated  by  John  Fiske  in  his  Destiny 
of  Man.  Science,  he  shows,  has  nothing  to  say  against  the  doc- 
trine of  immortality,  and  scientific  results  on  the  whole  are  favor- 
able to  it;  yet,  although  immortality  is  something  in  which  un- 
questionably man  will  always  believe,  "it  must  ever  remain  an 
affair  of  religion  rather  than  of  science."1     Of  course  there  is  a 

i  The  Destiny  of  Man,  p.  108. 


466  THE    ARGUMENT    FROM    REAPPEARANCE 

certain  kind  of  demonstration  which  we  can  conceive  as  possible, 
or  rather  a  kind  of  proof  that  would  approach  demonstration. 
If  the  doors  of  the  future  life  were  left  ajar,  so  that  we  might  look 
in,  or  so  that  the  inhabitants  might  be  free  to  come  and  visit  us, 
we  might  have  in  this  an  approach  to  demonstration,  although 
there  would  still  be  ample  room  for  questions  in  regard  to  optical 
and  other  delusions.  Many  have  regarded  the  resurrection  of 
Jesus  as  a  demonstration  of  this  kind.  Others  have  objected, 
and  with  a  certain  logical  and  superficial  correctness,  that  the 
resurrection  of  Jesus  would  not  prove  the  doctrine  of  immortality 
as  applied  to  other  lives;  that  the  very  fact  that  Jesus  rose  from 
the  dead  and  entered  heaven  in  the  manner  that  has  been  recorded 
would  show  that  his  case  was  exceptional,  and  that  his  resurrec- 
tion might  naturally  be  as  exceptional  in  its  result  as  it  had  been 
in  its  method.  But  this  argument  seems  to  me  to  have  little  to 
do  with  the  real  question.  For,  after  all,  what  men  really  want  to 
know  is  not  so  much  whether  this  or  that  individual  may  enter 
the  spiritual  world,  but  whether  such  a  world  exists,  and  if  only  a 
single  individual  were  known  actually  to  have  died  and  then  to 
have  lived  again,  and  to  be  living  now  in  some  sphere  hidden 
from  our  mortal  vision,  nothing  more  would  be  needed  to  quicken 
the  faith  of  men;  if  they  could  be  sure  that  there  was  this  sphere 
of  being,  this  world  of  spiritual  existence,  then  they  would  have 
at  least  the  hope,  if  not  the  confidence,  that  some  door  would  be 
opened  by  which  they  themselves  might  enter.1 

The  real  difficulty  in  the  case,  so  far  as  any  demonstrative  evi- 
dence is  concerned,  is  the  lack  of  scientific  certainty.  One  may 
shrink  here  from  any  criticism  or  test.  But  evidence  that  depends 
upon  historical  facts  must  submit  to  historical  investigation;  we 
cannot  have  in  full  force  at  the  same  time  the  argument  from 
spiritual  insight  and  the  argument  from  the  scientific  proof  of  a 
material,  external  fact.  Now  all  the  difficulties  that  have  beset 
the  study  of  the  genuineness  of  the  gospels  and  their  apostolic 
authority  meet  us  here.  For  example,  criticism  has  made  much 
of  the  differences  in  the  manner  in  which  the  story  itself  is  nar- 
rated. Here  as  elsewhere  we  find  ourselves  upon  firm  ground  only 
i  Page  383. 


THE    ARGUMENT    FROM    REAPPEARANCE  467 

as  we  study  those  epistles  of  Paul  which  criticism  has  left  intact. 
In  saying  this,  I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  that  we  are  sure  of  the 
absolute  truth  of  what  is  said ;  but  Ave  are  sure  of  our  witness,  we 
know  that  it  is  Paul  who  is  writing,  and  from  the  letters  them- 
selves we  have  some  idea  of  the  sort  of  man  that  he  was.  We  find 
that  according  to  Paul's  testimony  in  regard  to  himself  and  the 
other  disciples,  both  he  and  they  believed  in  the  actual  appearance 
of  Jesus  to  his  followers  after  his  death.  Of  course  there  is  here 
no  demonstration,  for  it  is  easy  to  say  that  the  experiences  nar- 
rated may  have  been  only  delusions.  All  that  we  know  is  that 
Paul  and  the  others  believed  them  to  be  real.  I  suppose  one  who 
had  no  faith  in  the  possibility  of  immortality  would  make  much 
of  Paul's  account  of  his  visions.  But  to  one  who  does  believe  in 
either  the  reality  or  the  possibility  of  the  immortal  life  the  occur- 
rences which  Paul  describes  may  be  only  what  he  has  expected, 
and  he  will  find  in  them,  if  not  a  basis  for  his  faith,  an  illustration 
and  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  a  confirmation  of  it. 

The  difficulty,  however,  in  regard  to  such  evidence  as  this,  ap- 
pears in  the  fact  that  to  so  many  thoughtful  minds  the  claims 
of  so-called  spiritualism  at  the  present  time  make  such  slight 
appeal.  If  spiritualism  were  true,  there  would  be  little  difficulty 
in  the  matter,  and  there  are  multitudes  of  people  who  have  been 
convinced  by  it.  But  as  soon  as  one  enters  to  any  extent  upon  the 
investigation  of  it,  the  first  thing  that  he  meets  is  the  great  fact 
of  fraud.  It  is  admitted  by  fair  and  liberal  and  at  the  same  time 
earnest  believers  in  spiritualism  that  many  of  the  most  noted 
mediums  fill  out  by  fraud  their  lack  of  real  power.  But  this  intro- 
duces a  very  great  difficulty,  for  if  you  know  that  there  is  fraud 
up  to  a  certain  point,  it  is  very  hard  to  say  where  the  fraud  ceases. 
Unquestionably  the  phenomena  of  mind-reading  have  much  to 
do  with  the  phenomena  of  spiritualism,  and  may  be  used  to  ex- 
plain them  to  some  extent.  Perhaps  we  may  admit  the  possibility 
that  actual  spiritual  persons  may  be  involved  in  some  of  these 
manifestations.  Yet  I  confess  that  I  feel  more  confidence  when 
the  manifestations  occur  under  somewhat  different  circumstances. 
Thus  the  visions  which  sometimes  greet  the  dying  have,  in  my 


468  THE    ARGUMENT    FROM    ANALOGY 

judgment,  much  more  force  as  evidence  than  those  produced 
by  mediums  whose  character  may  not  be  of  the  highest  order. 
We  might  almost  expect  that  now  and  then  when  a  soul  is  just 
on  the  border  line  between  the  two  worlds  they  should  both  be 
within  its  vision  at  the  same  time.  Here  again  there  is  no  demon- 
stration, for  demonstration  would  require  us  to  go  behind  the 
fact  and  see  for  ourselves  whether  the  reality  were  according  to 
the  appearance.  What  has  stood  most  in  the  way  of  spiritualism 
is  the  generally  low  order  of  its  results.  There  has  been  very 
little  in  them  that  has  brought  inspiration  to  the  world,  and  the 
picture  of  spiritual  life  as  revealed  by  spiritualism  does  not  seem 
to  be  on  the  whole  attractive.  It  is  sometimes  said  in  explana- 
tion of  this  that  we  are  brought  more  easily  into  relation  with  the 
lower  order  of  spirits,  although  some  communications  are  re- 
ceived from  those  who  profess  to  be  exalted  spirits.  In  my  own 
investigations  what  little  I  have  seen  has  given  me  a  greater  reali- 
zation of  the  amount  of  fraud  practised  than  I  had  before.  Yet 
I  do  not  consider  that  I  have  myself  judged  the  question,  and  I  do 
not  wish  to  judge  it  here.  All  that  I  wish  to  urge  here  is  that  for 
the  great  mass  of  men  spiritualism  cannot  at  present  be  relied 
upon  as  a  proof  of  immortality. 

This  first  form  of  the  argument  for  immortality  that  we  have 
been  considering  may  be  called  the  argument  from  actual  reap- 
pearance. The  second  form  of  the  argument  is  that  from  analogy. 
The  classic  example  of  this  form  of  the  argument  is  the  life  of  the 
butterfly,  but  it  is  easy  to  see  that  the  analogy  here  is  very  weak. 
For  the  life  of  the  butterfly  is  still  in  the  material  world,  and  our 
fundamental  question  is  whether  there  is  a  spiritual  world  into 
which  one  may  enter,  apart  from  the  material  world.  All  such 
illustrations  show  merely  that  immense  changes  may  take  place 
in  the  life  of  an  individual  without  destroying  his  individuality; 
the  analogy  goes  so  far,  but  no  farther.  The  doctrine  of  the  con- 
servation of  force  is  often  brought  forward  as  an  argument,  but  it 
can  hardly  be  considered  helpful.  For  this  doctrine  does  not 
teach  that  a  force  is  preserved  under  the  same  form  as  that  in 
which  it  has  previously  existed.     It  teaches  precisely  the  opposite 


PHYSICO-PSYCHOLOGICAL    PHENOMENA  469 

of  this.  The  great  energies  of  nature  manifest  themselves  now 
under  one  form  and  now  under  another.  The  doctrine  of  the  con- 
servation of  force,  if  we  applied  it  in  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
applied  to  the  facts  that  come  under  the  investigation  of  the  sci- 
entific world,  would  lead  us  to  ask  whether  the  force  which  now 
manifests  itself  as  spirit  might  not  later  show  itself  under  some 
other  form. 

In  its  third  form  the  argument  for  immortality  is  based  upon 
the  interesting  physico-psychological  phenomena  of  clairvoyance, 
mind-reading,  and  the  like.  In  regard  to  these  phenomena  two 
questions  are  to  be  asked:  first,  are  there  any  exceptional  in- 
dividuals who  possess  the  power  that  is  manifested  in  them? 
and,  secondly,  is  it  a  power  that  is  possessed  at  least  in  germ  by 
all  men?  The  claim  is  sometimes  made  that  the  two  must  go 
together,  and  that  the  power  which  one  possesses  must  be  to  some 
extent  possessed  by  all,  but  it  seems  to  me  not  necessary  to  assume 
that  all  must  possess  it  in  such  a  degree  as  to  affect  the  results 
even  slightly.  That  certain  individuals,  however,  possess  the 
power  seems  to  me  hardly  to  admit  of  doubt,  and  that  it  is  mani- 
fested in  a  special  form  by  some  persons  in  the  hypnotic  state  is 
unquestioned,  although  many  experiments  have  failed  and  al- 
though men  who  claimed  that  they  possessed  the  power  have 
been  found  to  be  mistaken.  It  is  very  difficult  here  to  exclude 
all  possible  error.  In  the  attempts  to  explain  the  phenomena 
the  most  ingenious  suggestion  is  that  the  person  whose  thought  is 
communicated  to  the  other  may  unconsciously  frame  the  words 
with  his  vocal  organs  in  such  a  way  that  although  no  sound  is  heard 
sufficient  force  is  yet  produced  to  influence  slightly  the  auditory 
nerve  and  so  the  brain  of  the  percipient.  So  far  as  the  bearing 
of  the  phenomena  upon  the  question  of  immortality  is  concerned, 
they  seem  to  me,  up  to  a  certain  point,  very  interesting.  They 
do  not  show  that  the  mind  can  act  without  a  physical  medium, 
for  brain  may  be  said  to  act  upon  brain  by  means  of  some  subtle 
physical  connection.  But  what  they  do  show  is  that  there  may 
be  an  activity  of  the  senses  independent  of  the  organs  through 
which  the  senses  commonly  act,  so  that  we  have  hearing  indepen- 


470  THE    PSYCHOLOGICAL   ARGUMENT 

dently  of  the  organs  of  hearing,  and  vision  that  is  independent  of 
the  eyes  and  not  limited  by  those  objects  which  ordinarily  inter- 
cept vision.  The  liberty  is  not  absolute.  But  the  fact  that  this 
partial  liberty  is  possible,  that  there  may  be  this  independence  of 
that  part  of  the  physical  organization  through  which  communica- 
tion usually  takes  place,  affords  at  least  a  hint  of  the  possibility  of  a 
more  complete  emancipation  from  the  physical  organization. 

The  fourth  form  of  the  argument,  the  psychological  argument, 
rests  upon  the  fundamental  psychological  fact  of  the  unity  of 
consciousness.  I  have  dwelt  at  length  upon  this  subject  already,1 
and  I  need  not  repeat  what  I  have  said.  We  have  seen  that  it  is 
absolutely  impossible  that  the  unity  of  consciousness  should  be 
produced  by  any  conglomeration  of  atoms.  However  subtle  they 
might  be,  or  however  delicate  the  connection  between  them,  the 
result  would  be  what  might  be  turned  a  crowd  of  consciousnesses 
and  not  the  unity  of  consciousness,  that  unity  which  manifests 
itself  in  the  use  of  the  pronoun  "I."  Not  that  we  have  here  any 
absolute  proof  that  this  unity  may  survive  the  dissolution  of  the 
body.  Lotze,  who  presents  the  fact  of  the  unity  of  consciousness 
with  the  greatest  distinctness, 2  himself  admits  that  it  is  not  of  the 
nature  of  a  proof.  If  we  knew  that  this  unity  had  always  existed, 
had  never  had  a  beginning,  then  we  might  reasonably  assume 
that  it  would  always  continue;  but  in  the  thought  of  most  of  us 
this  individuality  of  ours  had  a  beginning,  and  if  so,  then  its  non- 
composite  character  does  not  prove  that  it  may  not  come  to  an 
end.  Yet  nevertheless  the  fact  has  a  very  strong  negative  im- 
portance. For  if  the  unity  of  consciousness  is  not  the  result  of  a 
combination  of  the  molecules  that  compose  the  brain,  if  it  cannot 
by  any  possibility  be  the  product  of  them,  then  we  are  helped  in 
our  thought  that  it  may  survive  when  the  physical  organization 
has  ceased  to  exist.  This  is  a  result  the  importance  of  which  has 
hardly  been  recognized  as  yet  by  physico-psychologists  or  psycho - 
physiologists.  Some  of  them  seem  not  even  to  have  felt  the 
difficulty.     Tyndall  says  that  he  does  not  understand  how  the 

i  Page  160. 

2  Microcosmos,  transl.  of  Hamilton  and  Jones,  Vol.  I,  p.  152,  f. 


THE    PSYCHOLOGICAL   ARGUMENT  471 

flower  grows.  But  this  is  an  entirely  different  matter.  The 
development  of  the  flower  is  something  that  we  do  not  under- 
stand, but  the  unity  of  consciousness  is  something  which  we  know 
could  not  have  resulted  from  any  combination  of  physical  ele- 
ments. It  is  not  a  question  here  of  any  mere  lack  of  compre- 
hension. We  do  comprehend  the  impossibility  of  producing  this 
unity  by  any  process  of  composition. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  unity  of  consciousness  rather  than  of  our 
consciousness  of  unity,  because  the  demonstration  of  the  unity  of 
consciousness  is  far  more  important  than  that  of  the  consciousness 
of  unity.  For  our  consciousness  of  unity  may  be  regarded  as 
merely  a  postulate  of  thinking,  whereas  the  unity  of  consciousness 
is  independent  of  any  consciousness  of  our  own  except  as  our 
consciousness  is  one  and  always  one. 

The  question  that  may  be  raised  in  this  connection  as  to  the 
immortality  of  the  lower  animals  is  one  that  does  not  concern  us 
here.  I  may  say,  however,  in  passing,  that  one  or  two  elements 
which  are  among  the  most  important  factors  in  the  human  thought 
of  immortality  appear  to  be  absent  in  the  case  of  the  lower  animals. 
Whether  there  is  in  them  an  approach  to  absolute  self-conscious- 
ness, and  if  so  in  what  degree,  we  cannot  say.  But  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  any  approach  of  this  sort  appears  most  strikingly  in 
those  instances  in  which  the  animal  has  come  under  the  influence 
of  man.  As  I  may  have  reminded  you  before,  the  domestic  ani- 
mal borrows  much  from  the  human  consciousness  that  would 
hardly  have  been  gained  otherwise.1  The  pride  and  ambition  of 
the  race-horse  may  indeed  involve  a  certain  degree  of  conscious- 
ness, a  sense  of  separation  from  others.  Wliether  the  jealousy 
of  animals  in  the  pairing  season  has  anything  to  do  with  such 
consciousness  is  open  to  some  doubt;  what  appears  to  be  jealousy 
may  arise  simply  from  the  desire  of  possession;  certainly  it  is 
not  mere  jealousy  that  leads  a  dog  to  fight  for  his  bone.  Some- 
thing that  is  more  obviously,  or  less  doubtfully,  of  the  nature  of 
jealousy,  does  appear  in  domestic  animals,  as  when  a  dog  shows 
what  looks  like  jealousy  at  the  attention  paid  by  his  master  to 
another  dog.  But  how  much  these  reflected  emotions,  caught 
iPage  200. 


472  THE    PSYCHOLOGICAL   ARGUMENT 

from  the  higher  life  into  the  midst  of  which  the  animal  has  been 
thrown,  have  to  do  with  the  nature  of  the  animal  himself,  is  a 
doubtful  question.  As  I  said  at  the  outset,  the  matter  is  one  that 
does  not  concern  us  in  connection  with  our  present  discussion. 
The  question  as  to  the  immortality  of  the  lower  animals  is  wholly 
distinct  from  the  question  as  to  the  immortality  of  man.  If  the 
decision  in  regard  to  the  immortality  of  man  should  involve  a 
decision  as  to  that  of  the  lower  animals,  I  do  not  know  why  we 
need  to  protest.  But  all  that  we  can  say  with  any  definiteness 
is  that  the  indications  of  the  immortality  of  man  are  very  much 
more  marked  than  those  of  the  immortality  of  the  lower  animals, 
and  for  the  reason  that  whereas  the  personality  of  man  is  devel- 
oped, that  of  the  lower  animals  is  not. 

There  is,  however,  another  aspect  of  the  fact  of  consciousness 
which  does  concern  us  here,  namely,  the  question  as  to  the  theory 
which  finds  the  origin  of  religious  belief,  and  more  especially  the 
origin  of  the  belief  in  immortality,  in  the  dream.  If  these  beliefs 
were  based  on  a  theory  which  has  proved  to  be  mistaken,  why, 
it  may  be  asked,  should  the  beliefs  remain  when  the  theory 
upon  which  they  rested  has  been  demolished  ?  Of  course  the 
reply  may  be  made  that  the  fact  that  religion  and  the  belief  in 
immortality  remain  in  spite  of  the  decay  of  this  alleged  founda- 
tion, would  imply  that  the  relation  between  the  beliefs  and  the 
theory  was  not  so  absolute  as  some  have  supposed.  I  do  not 
need  to  discuss  here  the  relation  of  this  theory  to  religion  in  gen- 
eral, but  as  regards  its  relation  to  the  doctrine  of  immortality  we 
have  to  recognize  the  fact  that  belief  or  knowledge  may  be  ob- 
tained purely  by  accident,  and  then,  when  once  obtained,  may 
find  a  stable  psychological  foundation.  In  speaking  of  the  origin 
and  growth  of  Christianity  I  said  that  the  fact  that  accidents 
might  have  contributed  largely  toward  establishing  the  leadership 
of  this  or  that  person,  did  not  at  all  affect  his  power  and  right 
to  lead,  provided  that  power  was  manifested.1  So  here,  the  fact 
that  it  may  have  been  an  accident  which  first  brought  this  great 
thought  of  immortality  into  human  consciousness  does  not  imply 
that  there  may  not  have  been  a  special  psychological  basis  upon 
iPage  400. 


THE    PHILOSOPHICOTELEOLOGICAL   ARGUMENT    473 

which  it  could  rest  permanently.  The  savage  did  not  only  be- 
lieve that  the  spirit  or  shade  of  the  departed  still  lived  and  visited 
him  in  dreams,  and  that  he  himself  in  his  dreams  left  his  body 
and  wandered  to  distant  places.  He  also  found  that  there  was 
within  himself  something  separable,  the  sense  of  personality,  the 
sense  of  the  "I,"  which  gathered  itself  up  and  separated  itself, 
not  merely  from  surrounding  personalities  and  the  physical  en- 
vironment, but  also  from  his  own  body,  so  that  he  could  say  with 
a  sense  both  of  possession  and  of  identity  "my  body."  It  is 
possible,  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  probable,  that  this  was 
the  basis  upon  which  the  thought  of  immortality  first  found  rest, 
as  the  theory  of  dreams  began  to  give  way  to  other  views.  At 
least  it  complements  the  theory  of  dreams,  and  might  easily  serve 
to  give  additional  and  permanent  strength  to  the  belief  which 
that  theory  had  suggested. 

The  fifth  form  of  the  argument  for  immortality  is  the  philosophi- 
cal or  teleological  argument.  I  give  the  two  terms,  but  I  am  in- 
clined to  think  that  a  single  term,  philosophico-teleological,  would 
express  my  meaning  better.  I  use  the  word  "teleological"  in 
its  largest  and  most  fundamental  sense.  Suppose  we  assume  the 
Absolute  as  the  foundation  of  all  thought  as  well  as  of  all  being. 
The  Absolute,  by  that  fundamental  process  which  underlies  all 
thinking  and  all  spiritual  life,  produces  from  itself  individuals. 
These  individuals  are  individual  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term; 
they  have  separated  themselves  from  the  world  about  them  and 
have  become  conscious  egos.  Now  there  are  two  dispositions  of 
these  individuals  that  are  conceivable:  first,  that  they  should 
lose  their  individuality,  and  sink  back  again  and  be  absorbed 
into  their  original  source;  and  second,  that  they  should  continue 
to  develop  as  individuals,  and  should  return  to  their  source,  not 
mechanically  or  physically,  so  to  speak,  by  the  mere  process  of 
absorption,  but  through  self-surrender  and  love,  in  a  process 
which  should  be  endless,  always  accomplishing  itself  and  yet 
never  finally  accomplished.  According  to  the  first  view,  we 
should  have  only  the  first  two  stages  of  the  great  and  fundamental 
logical  process,  unity  and   differentiation,  and  a  differentiation 


474    THE    PHILOSOPHICO-TELEOLOGICAL    ARGUMENT 

which  really  amounts  to  nothing.  There  would  be  no  third  stage 
of  integration,  for  that  is  not  integration  in  which  the  individuals 
simply  fall  back  again  into  abstract  unity;  true  integration  re- 
quires that  the  differentiated  elements  shall  all  be  taken  up  and 
preserved  in  a  difference  which  yet  shall  not  be  a  difference  of 
separation.  On  the  other  hand,  according  to  the  second  view, 
the  theory  of  immortality,  we  have  a  conception  of  the  universe 
which  is  complete,  a  process  of  perpetual  differentiation  and 
integration.  This  process  is  without  end,  because  the  individual, 
in  the  eternal  process  of  his  identification  with  the  Absolute,  can 
complete  the  process  only  in  eternity;  his  goal  is  an  infinite  goal. 
Yet  it  is  not  a  process  which  is  worthless  until  completed.  There 
are  such  processes.  A  mechanical  process  is  in  large  part  worth- 
less until  the  finished  result  is  reached ;  the  unfinished  mechanical 
instrument  is  practically  good  for  nothing.  But  it  is  very  different 
with  organic  life.  Here  there  is  worth  at  every  stage  even  of  its 
incompleteness.  Thus  the  life  of  the  child  is  of  immense  worth 
even  if  it  never  becomes  the  life  of  the  man,  and  yet  it  is  incom- 
plete, because  there  are  possible  values  which  it  has  never  at- 
tained. In  a  similar  way,  in  this  process  of  eternal  differentiation 
and  integration  which  is  never  complete  and  yet  always  com- 
pleting itself,  we  may  say  that  the  joy  is  in  the  process  rather  than 
in  the  result.  For  in  the  process  the  individual  is  entering  always 
more  and  more  into  the  divine  relationship.  If  the  result  were 
attained,  so  that  the  individual  was  absolutely  lost  in  God,  then 
there  would  be  no  individual  consciousness  whatever;  the  indi- 
vidual would  have  passed  away.  In  the  process  the  individual  is 
preserved  at  the  same  time  that  he  is  lost.  For  it  is  a  process  of 
voluntary  self-surrender.  He  asserts  his  individuality  in  the  very 
act  of  surrendering  it.  It  is  he  who  surrenders  himself,  but  he 
does  not  remain  merely  a  separate  individual,  for  he  surrenders 
himself. 

It  may  be  asked  whether  such  a  process,  or  such  a  result,  might 
not  be  attained  through  an  eternal  sequence  of  individuals,  by 
which  each  generation  should  enter  into  the  results  of  the  genera- 
tion that  had  preceded  it,  and  so  the  advance  in  the  direction  of 


THE    PHILOSOPHICO-TELEOLOGICAL   ARGUMENT    475 

the  divine  relation  be  made  through  waves,  as  it  were,  of  human 
life,  rather  than  through  individuals.  But  whatever  other  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  this  assumption  may  occur  to  us,  it  is  enough 
that  we  meet  this  fundamental  difficulty,  that  science  makes  no 
provision  for  an  advance  of  this  kind.  Not  merely  certain  scien- 
tific men  but  science  itself  would  declare  that  if  anything  is  certain, 
it  is  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  perpetual  motion.  There  is 
no  such  thing  as  motion  without  friction,  and  friction  by  its  very 
existence  is  destructive  of  motion.  So  that  if  a  man  comes  to  any 
scientific  person  and  tells  him  that  he  has  discovered  a  machine 
which  without  any  influx  of  fresh  power  from  without  will  move 
on  forever,  the  scientific  person  does  not  need  even  to  look  at  the 
machine,  but  knows  in  advance  that  the  man  is  either  a  crank 
or  uninstructed.  There  is  this  friction  in  the  revolution  of  the 
earth.  Kant  himself,  if  I  am  rightly  informed,  was  the  first  to 
call  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  tides  are  like  a  great  brake  upon 
the  rotation  of  the  earth, — the  fact  which  may  help  to  justify  that 
awe  which  so  many  feel  in  the  presence  of  the  ocean,  and  which 
certainly  enhances  our  own  sense  of  its  sublimity  when  we  think 
that  this  is  the  hand  that  is  laid  upon  the  earth  to  delay  its  course. 

If  we  accept  this  dictum  from  science,  we  find  that  the  per- 
petual development  of  the  human  race  upon  the  earth  is  not  con- 
ceivable. Any  outward  "good  time  coming"  of  the  sort  to 
which  men  have  so  long  looked  forward,  must  be  rather  a  culmina- 
tion than  the  close  of  a  development.  That  is,  it  must  be  merely 
a  highest  point  from  which  there  will  be  a  slow  recession.  If 
there  is  to  be  a  golden  age  in  the  later  period  of  the  earth's  history, 
it  must  be  a  golden  age  of  the  spiritual  life  as  it  finds  itself  beset, 
to  a  degree  of  which  we  can  hardly  conceive,  by  the  elements  that 
are  slowly  to  crowd  man  out  of  his  place  upon  the  earth.  If 
there  is  to  be  a  perpetual  development,  it  must  be  through  the  in- 
dividual rather  than  through  the  race,  and  what  is  true  of  our 
world  must  be  true  of  all  worlds,  for  the  principle  that  is  involved 
is  fundamental. 

There  is  a  more  personal  aspect  of  this  philosophico-teleological 
argument,   in    the  great    possibilities  that    are  bound  up  in  the 


476  THE    ETHICAL   ARGUMENT 

spiritual  nature  of  every  individual.  There  are  two  views  which 
one  may  take  of  immortality.  When  we  see  a  nature  which 
seems  already  nearly  perfect  and  hardly  to  need  the  process  of 
death  in  order  to  reach  that  higher  spiritual  life  which  we  call 
angelic,  we  are  apt  to  think  at  first  that  the  idea  of  immortality 
is  easy  to  conceive,  for  we  seem  to  see  the  immortal  life  already 
begun  on  earth.  But  when  we  consider  some  poor  ignorant, 
degraded  specimen  of  humanity  side  by  side  with  that  first  exalted 
nature,  we  find  in  it  no  hint  of  immortality.  It  would  be  pos- 
sible, however,  to  take  quite  another  view.  We  might  say  of  the 
exalted  nature  that  perhaps  it  had  had  its  fulfilment;  it  had  looked 
upon  the  universe  and  had  seen  God,  and  might  be  content,  as 
we  also  might  be  content  for  it,  that  it  should  pass  away.  But 
of  these  other,  lower  lives,  which  in  spite  of  present  ignorance  and 
degradation  still  have  within  themselves  the  possibility  of  the 
divine  vision,  the  germ  of  the  immortal  life,  we  might  say  that 
these  were  the  natures  of  whose  future  existence  we  might  be  most 
assured.  In  the  first  case  it  is  easier  for  us  to  conceive  of  im- 
mortality because  we  see  the  spirit  shining  through  the  flesh;  in 
the  second  case  because  the  flesh  still  so  overlies  the  spirit.  In  the 
first  case  the  conception  rests  on  intuition,  in  the  second  case  on 
reason. 

These  two  aspects  of  the  argument,  as  related  on  the  one  hand 
to  the  universe  and  on  the  other  to  the  individual  complete  each 
other.  That  which  the  universe  demands  in  the  relation  of  the 
creation  to  the  Creator  is  seen  to  be  demanded  also  by  the  nature 
of  the  individual. 

The  sixth  form  of  the  argument,  the  ethical  aspect  of  it,  follows 
naturally  upon  what  has  just  been  said.  The  individual,  it  is  held, 
cannot  fulfil  the  law  of  righteousness  within  any  brief  or  limited 
period.  Besides  this,  there  is  the  question  whether  the  universe 
is  at  heart  just  or  unjust.  This  question  presents  itself  in  two 
aspects.  First  there  is  the  question  as  to  the  justice  or  injustice 
of  exciting  hopes  that  can  never  be  fulfilled  or  making  beginnings 
that  are  to  lead  to  nothing  further.  Then,  secondly,  there  is  the 
matter  of  equality,  the  fact  that  some  come   into   the  world   so 


THE    ETHICAL   ARGUMENT  477 

pressed  by  outward  circumstances  that  their  lives  can  be  only 
misery,  while  others  are  so  fortunate  that  it  is  their  own  fault  if 
they  are  not  supremely  happy ;  the  fact  that  some  holy  individuals 
because  of  their  very  holiness  suffer  martyrdom,  whereas  others 
through  their  sinfulness  not  only  obtain  worldly  prosperity,  but, 
so  far  as  one  may  judge,  are  not  troubled  by  even  the  inner  pains 
of  conscience  which  so  beset  those  who  are  more  virtuous  than 
themselves.  It  has  been  a  favorite  argument  for  immortality 
that  the  balance  should  be  restored.  The  answer  has  been  made 
that  this  restoration  goes  on  all  the  time,  that  the  balance  is  always 
being  accomplished,  that  righteousness  pays  as  it  goes.  But  so 
far  as  happiness  is  concerned,  I  think  we  must  admit  that  Kant 
is  right,  and  that  virtue  does  not  make  a  man  happy.  He  may 
indeed  be  less  miserable  than  he  would  be  if  he  did  wrong.  In 
exceptional  cases,  as  when  he  suffers  the  flames  of  martyrdom 
for  conscience  sake,  he  may  have  such  a  sense  of  the  nearness  of 
immortality  as  to  make  him  absolutely  happy.  But  where  a  man 
who  without  any  exalted  religious  faith  is  simply  doing  right, 
suffers  for  his  right-doing,  we  can  say  only  that  he  is  less  miser- 
able than  he  would  have  been,  had  he  not  done  right;  we  cannot 
go  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  is  happy.  I  know  that  the  answer 
may  be  made  to  this  that  the  individual  who  does  right  in  order 
that  he  may  be  happy  does  not  really  do  right.  But  we  are  not 
putting  ourselves  now  in  the  place  of  these  individuals  and  utter- 
ing the  complaint  of  the  man  who  does  right  and  suffers.  We  are 
looking  upon  the  question  from  the  outside.  We  are  pressing  it 
not  for  ourselves  but  on  behalf  of  others,  and  above  all  on  behalf 
of  the  universe  itself.  We  demand  poetic  justice  for  the  uni- 
verse, in  order  that  it  may  be  complete ;  that  it  may  have  the  crown 
of  beauty  as  well  as  of  holiness.  It  is  from  this  point  of  view  that 
the  ethical  argument  for  immortality  is  to  be  pressed.  It  loses 
weight,  we  freely  admit,  when  it  is  urged  by  the  individual  on  his 
own  behalf;  the  person  to  whom  it  applies  has  not  the  right  to 
offer  it.  But  when  we  leave  ourselves  out  of  the  account  and  look 
upon  man  and  the  universe  at  large,  then  perhaps  we  do  have  a 
right  to  urge  it. 


478  man's  sense  of  the  ideal 

In  its  seventh  form  the  argument  for  immortality  is  based  upon 
man's  sense  of  the  ideal,  the  fact  that  he  attains  to  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  absolute  ideal.  For  these  ideas  are  eternal,  and  he 
who  sees  things  sub  specie  oeternitatis,  to  use  one  of  Spinoza's 
most  striking  phrases,  is  taken  up  out  of  the  flux  and  sweep  of  the 
things  of  time.  It  is  possible  and  even  probable  that  this  sweep 
of  change  is  all  that  the  animal  sees,  and  perhaps  all  that  some 
men  see.  But  above  and  beneath  it  are  the  things  that  abide, 
the  absolute  truth  and  goodness  and  beauty,  together  with  all  the 
forms  under  which  they  manifest  themselves.  The  fact  that  man 
has  the  power  to  recognize  these  elements  may  not  be  an  argument 
for  immortality,  but  at  least  it  enables  us  better  to  conceive  the 
possibility  of  immortality.  The  spirit  which  has  entered  the 
realm  of  eternal  things  to  the  extent  of  having  looked  upon  them 
may  with  less  difficulty  be  supposed  to  partake  of  their  eternity. 
One  feels  this  the  more  strongly  when  one  recalls  how  easily  the 
sense  of  immortality  arises  in  those  moments  when  one  is  exalted 
by  the  ideal  relations;  thus  the  lover  of  music  seems  often  in  cer- 
tain moods  to  be  lifted  above  the  limits  of  time,  and  there  is  a 
similar  experience  in  all  similar  exaltation.  The  individual  who 
has  entered  this  realm  is  not  merely  a  higher  animal,  for  he  has 
entered  where,  so  far  as  we  can  judge,  the  lower  animal  cannot 
enter.  There  is  here  another  of  the  indications  which  make  it 
easier  for  us  to  believe  in  the  immortality  of  man  than  in  that  of 
the  lower  animals,  although  as  I  have  already  suggested1  it  is  in 
no  way  necessary  to  the  upward  flight  of  the  spirit  that  the  lower 
life  should  be  pressed  downward. 

This  element  which  we  have  just  considered  reaches  its  cul- 
mination in  the  consciousness  of  God.  Here  is  the  eighth  form 
of  the  argument.  In  the  thought  of  God  all  the  ideas  of  the  rea- 
son are  blended  in  absolute  unity.  The  spirit  that  feels  itself 
rooted  in  him  feels  itself  independent  of  earthly  things.  It  is  like 
the  water  lily,  the  lotus,  rooted  beneath  the  stream.  I  hardly 
understand  how  one  who  has  a  real  faith  in  God  can  have  serious 
doubt  in  regard  to  the  immortality  of  the  spirit.  For  from  one 
point  of  view  the  only  real  difficulty  is  the  question  as  to  the 
iPage  472. 


THE    CONSCIOUSNESS    OF   GOD  479 

sphere  which  the  spirit  is  to  inhabit  after  it  has  been  severed  from 
its  material  environment.  But  if  we  recognize  a  spiritual  as  well 
as  a  physical  universe,  if  we  recognize  the  Infinite  Spirit  as  well  as 
the  infinitude  of  matter,  then  all  difficulty  of  this  kind  appears  to 
be  solved;  there  is  a  sphere  in  which  the  spirit  may  live,  apart 
from  the  physical  environment.  Furthermore,  if  we  attain  to  the 
consciousness  of  God,  those  arguments  to  which  I  have  already 
referred,  in  regard  to  the  demand  for  justice  and  completeness  in 
the  universe,  have  a  special  significance  and  power.  For  with- 
out God  the  universe  would  be  only  a  world  of  atoms  of  which 
little  of  justice  or  equality  could  be  expected.  Apart  from  this, 
however,  the  fact  that  the  spirit  reaches  the  idea  of  God  is  itself 
an  indication  of  immortality,  because  in  this  thought  it  already 
severs  itself  from  the  mere  material  world  about  it,  and  if  we  may 
assume  that  the  thought  embodies  an  absolute  reality,  then  this 
reality  provides  an  absolute  foundation  for  belief.  I  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  the  belief  in  individual  immortality  must  inevitably  follow 
from  the  belief  in  the  existence  of  God.  What  I  am  urging  is 
that  if  we  grant  the  existence  of  God,  then  the  fact  that  the  indi- 
vidual is  conscious  of  the  divine  life,  and  feels  that  his  own  life  is 
rooted  in  it,  makes  the  thought  of  immortality  in  one  aspect  easy 
if  not  necessary,  while  the  fact  that  an  infinite  sphere  is  provided  in 
which  the  spirit  may  dwell  when  severed  from  the  material  world 
removes  the  difficulty  of  the  belief  in  another  aspect. 

We  see  how  the  belief  in  immortality  is  one  of  the  outgrowths  of 
religious  faith.  We  have  left  far  behind  that  world  of  dreams  of 
the  savage,  with  its  play  of  the  fancy  and  its  suggestion  of  demonic 
life.  We  have  reached  the  fulness  of  the  spiritual  life,  in  which 
the  soul  meets  the  Absolute  face  to  face.  It  lives  in  a  higher  world, 
the  world  of  ideas,  the  world  of  God.  The  ideal  elements  of  this 
world  may  go  very  far  beyond  anything  that  is  found  in  the  ex- 
ternal world.  It  is  a  world  which  in  part  the  spirit  has  created, 
or  which  it  perceives  by  its  own  powers  of  intuition.  For  the 
absolute  goodness  and  truth  and  beauty,  as  we  have  all  along  seen, 
involve  that  which  we  have  called  the  supernatural.1     But  since 

1  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith,  p.  89. 


480  man's  instinctive  faith 

the  spirit  lives  in  this  world  which  is  above  nature,  it  seems  nat- 
ural that  it  should  be  to  a  certain  extent  independent  of  the  world 
of  nature.  At  least  we  can  conceive  it  possible  that  as  the  lower 
world  of  change  drifts  on  beneath  the  spirit,  it  shall  not  be  swept 
along  with  it  in  its  course. 

Finally  we  come  to  the  suggestion  that  is  offered  in  man's  divina- 
tion of  immortality,  his  instinctive  faith  in  it.  Of  the  two  aspects 
under  which  this  manifests  itself  historically,  the  aspect  that  has 
been  more  often  emphasized  is  the  universality  of  the  belief. 
From  the  earliest  period  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge  we  find 
evidences  of  it,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  a  race  has  ever  been  found 
in  which  it  did  not  exist.  Individuals  have  professed  that  they 
did  not  have  it,  but  so  far  as  the  history  of  the  race  in  general  is 
concerned  we  find  it  everywhere.  It  is  the  second  aspect,  how- 
ever, which  is  the  more  important,  namely,  the  belief  of  the 
higher  natures.  Wherever  the  inner  life  of  the  spirit  has  been 
most  developed,  there  we  find,  as  a  rule,  the  strongest  faith  in 
immortality.  At  least  this  is  true  of  the  past.  In  our  own  time 
there  have  been  some  very  noble  spirits,  such  as  Harriet  Martineau 
and  George  Eliot,  who  appear  not  to  have  had  faith  in  immor- 
tality. But  one  may  easily  make  too  much  of  individual  examples. 
For  in  our  day  questioning  and  criticism  are  so  common  that 
the  natural  instincts  hardly  have  free  sweep.  The  element  of 
self-consciousness  also  has  often  a  repressing  effect  upon  instinc- 
tive faith.  It  works  here  very  much  as  we  see  it  so  frequently  in 
the  case  of  acquired  instincts,  as  when  one  plays  from  memory 
upon  an  instrument  or  as  when  one  walks  at  a  great  height  upon 
a  narrow  plank;  one's  success  depends  largely  upon  the  extent 
to  which  one  can  avoid  thinking  about  what  one  is  doing.  We 
can  easily  understand  how  in  the  winds  of  doctrine  that  are  so 
prevalent  nowadays  the  spirit  as  it  strives  to  rise  may  be  swept 
out  of  its  course. 

It  is  interesting  to  notice  the  faith  in  God  and  even  in  immor- 
tality that  we  find  in  writers  whose  general  habit  of  thought  might 
lead  us  to  expect  from  them  little  sympathy  with  such  beliefs. 
Thus  we  have  seen  how  Darwin  speaks  of  God  as   breathing  the 


MAN  S    INSTINCTIVE    FAITH  481 

breath  of  life  into  a  few  original  forms,1  and  in  The  Destiny  of  Man 
John  Fiske  out  of  the  very  process  of  evolution  itself  grasps  the 
thought  of  the  permanence  of  the  individual.2  The  religious 
spirit  should  recognize  the  fact  that  its  friends  and  allies  are  more 
numerous  than  is  sometimes  thought,  and  that  in  the  minds  of 
many  of  the  men  of  science  and  of  the  questioning  habit  there 
remain  the  fundamental  religious  faiths  which  it  is  simply  not  a 
part  of  their  special  work  to  emphasize  or  elaborate. 

The  instinctive  faith  in  immortality  which  we  are  here  con- 
sidering is  in  itself  a  most  striking  fact.  The  more  we  think  of 
it  the  more  we  realize  the  weakness  of  any  explanation  like  the 
theory  of  the  phenomena  of  dreams,  to  account  for  this  long- 
continued  faith  in  man  by  which 

"  He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die."3 

The  very  thought  of  eternity  would  seem  to  lift  man  out  of  the 
limits  of  time,  especially  when  we  consider  the  fact  that  man  is 
the  only  being  upon  the  earth  that  is  in  the  strict  sense  of  the 
word  "mortal,"  the  only  being  that  is  conscious  of  its  mortality.4 
For  in  spite  of  occasional  stories  to  the  contrary,  the  lower  ani- 
mals cling  instinctively  to  life,  and  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  they 
have  no  consciousness  of  the  limitations  of  their  lives,  but  pass 
each  moment  as  though  it  were  part  of  an  eternal  existence,  with 
no  thought  of  any  end  or  separation.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  natures  of  the  sort  to  which  I  have  just  referred,  like  Harriet 
Martineau  and  George  Eliot,  may  have  denied  a  belief  in  im- 
mortality largely  because  in  a  similar  way  they  had  already  en- 
tered into  an  eternal  life,  so  to  speak,  and  therefore  were  hardly 
conscious  of  the  coming  day.  But  however  this  may  be,  we  see 
how  man's  faith  in  immortality  rises  out  of  his  recognition  of  the 
great  fact  of  death.  He  has  crossed  a  gulf  which  the  lower  life 
does  not  recognize.     The  lower  animal  has  the  sense  of  life,  but 

1  The  Origin  of  Species,  close  of  Chap.  XV. 

2  The  Destiny  of  Man,  Chap.  XVI. 

3  In  Memoriam,  the  prologue.  4  Page  202. 


482  DIFFICULTIES 

not  the  sense  of  death;  man  has  the  sense  of  death,  but  he  has 
also  the  sense  of  immortality.  Here  is  the  final  stage  in  the 
great  process  of  affirmation,  negation,  and  negation  of  the  ne- 
gation. This  instinct  is  not  merely  the  form  in  which  belief 
commonly  appears,  but  it  may  be  in  itself  an  indication  of  the 
trustworthiness  of  belief. 

Of  course  difficulties  occur  to  us.  There  is  the  difficulty  to 
which  I  have  already  referred,  in  regard  to  the  life  of  the  lower 
animals.  But,  as  I  said  before,  the  question  as  to  their  immor- 
tality is  wholly  independent  of  the  question  as  to  the  immortality 
of  man.  If  the  lower  animals  also  are  immortal,  so  much  the 
better.  All  that  can  be  said  is  that  certain  reasons  exist  for  a 
belief  in  the  immortality  of  man  which  do  not  hold  in  the  case  of 
the  lower  animals.  In  the  lower  animals  as  in  man  there  is 
affection,  there  are  elements  of  consciousness,  there  is  suffering 
which  may  demand  compensation.  But  there  do  not  exist  in 
the  lower  animals  that  distinct,  rounded,  self-conscious  person- 
ality which  appears  in  man,  and  that  faith  in  love,  that  instinct  by 
which  man's  spirit  clings  to  the  departed  and  will  not  give  them 
up  but  follows  them  into  some  new  and  higher  life.  I  once  heard 
a  sermon  in  which  the  preacher  insisted  that  our  feeling  toward 
the  departed  was  not  properly  to  be  described  as  love.  I  do  not 
know  what  was  the  practical  or  spiritual  purpose  of  the  sermon; 
I  only  know  that  it  chilled  the  spirits  of  many  among  those  who 
listened  to  it.  But  if  we  have  any  belief  in  immortality,  why 
should  we  not  call  this  feeling  love  which  reaches  through  the 
veil  that  separates  us  from  the  unseen  world  ?  Such  love  is  one 
of  the  forms  in  which  the  fundamental  instinct  of  immortality 
manifests  itself.  Even  the  lower  animal  has  it  to  some  extent — 
the  dog  that  knows  nothing  of  the  mystery  of  death  and  yet  will 
die  of  sorrow  on  the  grave  of  his  master.  However,  all  that  I 
wish  to  urge  here  is  that  the  question  as  to  the  immortality  of  the 
lower  animals  does  not  concern  us  in  relation  to  our  present  dis- 
cussion. 

This  is  also  true  in  regard  to  the  question  of  pre-existence. 
Many  hold  that  the  doctrine  of  immortality  involves  the  doctrine 


DIFFICULTIES  483 

of  pre-existence.  But  pre-existence  is  something  about  which 
we  know  nothing  whatever.  For  anything  that  we  know  to  the 
contrary,  we  may  have  existed  indefinitely  or  from  eternity.  Cer- 
tainly we  existed  long  before  our  consciousness  could  tell  us  any- 
thing in  regard  to  it,  and  the  earlier  years  of  conscious  life  are 
wholly  passed  from  memory.  Who  can  say  what  previous  ex- 
istence may  or  may  not  have  been  ours  ?  Perhaps  our  spirits 
have  had  their  growth  slowly  through  all  the  stages  of  lower 
life,  and  that  thus  there  may  be  an  immortality  of  the  beast  as 
the  lower  life  takes  form  at  last  in  the  higher  life  of  man.  But 
a  matter  that  is  so  uncertain  not  merely  as  regards  the  fact,  but 
also  as  regards  the  relation  of  that  fact  to  the  doctrine  of  im- 
mortality, hardly  needs  to  enter  into  our  consideration.  Our 
present  question  is  not  as  to  the  eternity  of  existence,  but  whether 
existence  as  we  find  it  here  is  of  such  a  nature  as  to  justify  a  faith 
in  its  immortality. 

We  must  bear  in  mind  always  that  nothing  that  has  been  said 
'proves  the  doctrine  of  immortality.  All  that  we  have  been  doing 
is  to  bring  out  the  elements  of  the  highest  religious  faith  in  their 
relation  to  this  doctrine.  Religion  is  a  matter  of  faith,  not  of 
demonstration.  Even  in  the  more  ordinary  subjects  of  human 
thought  one  sees  clearly  enough  how  little  room  there  is  for 
demonstration.  We  cannot  prove  to  a  man  that  Wilberforce  had 
a  nobler  career  than  Napoleon,  and  we  ought  to  see  as  clearly 
how  powerless  demonstration  is  in  relation  to  the  elements  which 
constitute  man's  higher  life. 

There  are,  however,  certain  other  difficulties  which  are  urged 
from  quite  another  point  of  view.  It  is  said,  for  example,  that 
the  belief  in  immortality  is  narrow  and  selfish.  But  we  must 
recognize  the  fact  that  one's  thought  of  immortality  rests  as 
largely  upon  the  thought  of  others  as  upon  the  thought  of  one's 
self.  It  is  our  thought  of  the  universe  that  demands  it  rather  than 
the  thought  of  our  own  individual  lives.  What  concerns  us  most 
is  not  what  may  happen  to  us  individually,  but  the  question 
whether  or  no  we  must  give  up  our  dreams  of  a  universe  which  is 
governed  by  love  and  wisdom,  and  which  is  working  toward  some 


484  DIFFICULTIES 

great  and  worthy  end.  It  is  the  faith  in  all  the  higher  relations 
of  human  existence  which  points  to  the  faith  in  immortality.  But 
even  if  we  consider  only  the  individual,  the  doctrine  of  immor- 
tality when  viewed  from  the  proper  standpoint  is  seen  not  to  be 
a  manifestation  of  littleness  or  selfishness.  It  is  true  that  there 
is  a  great  beauty,  almost  a  sublimity,  in  the  self-forgetfulness 
and  self-abnegation  of  the  spirit  which  lays  down  its  hope  of 
immortality  in  obedience  to  what  it  believes  to  be  the  demands 
of  truth.  Men  have  made  many  sacrifices  to  truth,  but  none, 
perhaps,  that  is  more  profound  than  this.  The  words  of  George 
Eliot  are  very  touching  when  she  speaks  of  rejoicing,  or  trying  to 
rejoice,  in  the  thought  of  the  sunshine  that  shall  be  in  the  world 
after  we  are  gone,  and  when  she  prays  in  the  great  utterance  of 
that  poem  which  is  now  so  familiar, 

"Oh  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible," 

we  cannot  but  admire  the  unselfishness  that  is  manifested  in  such 
belief.  But  the  question  as  to  the  selfishness  or  unselfishness  of 
the  hope  of  immortality  depends  almost  entirely  upon  the  nature 
of  that  hope.  The  hope  of  one  who  is  looking  forward  merely 
to  a  paradise  of  personal  joy  may  not  grow  out  of  actual  selfishness 
but  certainly  is  centred  in  self-love.  But  in  the  higher  life  self  is 
given  up.  The  individual  spirit  does  not  think  of  itself  as  self- 
centred  but  as  in  relation  to  the  infinite  spirit.  Its  hope  is  not 
for  a  universe  in  which  everything  shall  conform  to  its  desire  and 
will,  but  for  one  in  which  it  shall  itself  conform  always  more  and 
more  to  the  divine  will. 

Perhaps  the  lowest  form  of  the  belief  in  immortality  arises  out 
of  the  mere  habit  of  living;  we  are  used  to  living  and  we  hate 
to  have  the  habit  broken  up.  The  true  thought  of  immortality 
is  not  this  mere  clinging  to  the  habit  of  living,  but  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  true  end  of  life,  and  the  glad  and  full  surrender  of  one's 
self  to  it.  Granting  such  recognition  and  surrender,  what  if  the 
spirit  does  pray  for  an  immortality  of  life  in  which  it  shall  be  bound 
to  the  other  spirits  about  it  by  natural  love,  and  in  which  it  shall 


DIFFICULTIES  485 

share  more  and  more  in  the  inflow  and  outflow  of  the  divine  life  ? 
Shall  we  call  such  existence  selfish  or  even  self-centred  ?  A  child 
is  sick  unto  death,  and  the  mother  shrinks  from  having  any  hand 
but  hers  minister  to  it.  Shall  we  call  such  a  mother  selfish  ?  She 
wishes  to  give  up  the  peace  of  her  nights  and  the  pleasure  of  her 
days  to  this  care.  Is  it  selfish  ?  Is  there  not  here  the  very  un- 
selfishness of  love  ?  Or  when  in  some  perilous  assault  soldiers 
rush  forward  to  share  the  post  of  danger,  is  it  selfishness  or  un- 
selfishness ?  There  may  be  the  thought  of  self,  but  only  in  the 
eagerness  to  surrender  self.  Is  it  selfishness  or  unselfishness  that 
the  spirit  longs  to  be  itself  the  instrument  of  the  eternal  love  ? 
Or,  to  speak  more  especially  of  the  relation  of  love  to  its  object, 
is  it  selfish  or  unselfish  in  the  spirit  that  it  shrinks  from  an  eternal 
separation  from  the  object  of  its  love  ?  Is  it  selfish  or  unselfish 
in  it  that  it  clings  to  the  thought  of  living  more  and  more  fully  in 
the  perfection  of  the  divine  love,  that  it  shrinks  from  passing  out 
of  the  world  of  God  himself?  If  this  is  selfishness,  it  is  cer- 
tainly a  qualified  selfishness.  To  me  it  seems  to  be  the  very  op- 
posite of  selfishness.  In  a  single  word,  the  relation  of  the  thought 
of  immortality  to  self  depends,  as  I  said  before,  upon  the  nature 
of  the  immortality  that  is  the  object  of  one's  hope.  If  it  is  an 
immortality  of  love  and  service  and  self-surrender,  then  the  long- 
ing for  it  would  seem  to  be  free  from  selfishness. 

One  of  the  fundamental  difficulties  in  regard  to  this  whole 
question  at  the  present  day  arises  from  the  fact  that  we  set  too 
low  an  estimate  upon  the  personal.  There  is  even  a  tendency 
to  look  upon  it  as  something  to  be  escaped  from,  a  feeling  that 
the  impersonal  is  higher  and  worthier.  We  are  reminded  that 
although  individuals  may  pass  away,  the  eternal  laws  of  the  uni- 
verse abide;  there  is  still  the  movement  of  the  great  forces  which 
constitute  the  physical  life,  there  is  still  the  activity  of  the  great 
spiritual  forces;  so  long  as  these  endure,  what  does  it  matter  that 
the  merely  personal  comes  and  goes?  But  when  we  look  more 
closely  we  find  that  personality  is  the  one  thing  in  the  universe 
the  permanence  of  which  is  of  value  to  us.  We  may  even  ask 
what  would   become  of  this   infinite,   absolute  universe   itself   if 


486  NATURE    OF    THE    FUTURE    LIFE 

personality  should  disappear.  For  there  are  no  laws  outside  of 
the  human  soul,  or  rather  outside  of  conscious  spirit;  there  are 
only  facts.  It  is  the  power  of  generalization  which  unites  these 
facts  in  a  single  thought  and  brings  them  together  in  a  common 
law,  which  changes  facts  to  laws.  Again,  personality  is  the  one 
thing  in  our  lives  which  we  are  not  willing  to  change  or  to  replace. 
Anything  else  may  come  and  go,  but  when  your  friend  goes,  his 
place  cannot  be  filled ;  his  personality  has  made  it  sacred.  Thus 
the  grief  for  personal  loss  is  the  one  grief  for  which  we  are  not 
willing  to  be  consoled.  Even  the  things  which  we  cherish,  the 
lock  of  hair,  the  bit  of  ribbon,  are  things  that  have  become  dear 
to  us  through  the  touch  of  personal  association.  If  we  could 
fully  realize  the  place  and  value  of  the  personal  in  our  lives,  if 
we  could  fully  appreciate  its  power  and  its  divinity,  we  should 
shrink  less  from  applying  the  term  even  to  God  himself,  and  we 
should  certainly  feel  more  deeply  the  power  of  the  spiritual  life. 
I  have  spoken  thus  far  of  the  nature  of  the  faith  in  immortality. 
What  shall  we  say  of  the  nature  of  that  future  life  which  we  may 
accept  from  the  hands  of  faith  ?  We  can  only  say  with  the  apostle, 
"  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  have  entered  into  the 
heart  of  man,  the  things  which  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that 
love  him."  1  How  is  it  possible  for  us  to  conceive  the  nature  of 
this  higher  life  ?  Granting  the  absolute  certainty  of  it,  what  can 
we  know  of  it  ?  Or  supposing  it  possible  that  we  should  be  placed 
in  the  midst  of  it,  what  could  we  comprehend  ?  What  does  the 
child  comprehend  of  the  world  in  which  he  is  placed,  of  the  lives 
of  his  father  and  mother,  of  their  relations  to  all  the  life  that  circles 
about  them  ?  He  sees,  and  he  thinks  he  understands,  but  we 
know  that  he  comprehends  little  of  the  underlying  reality  of  it  all. 
Or  take  some  person  who  has  the  musical  sense  but  in  whom 
that  sense  is  wholly  untrained,  and  set  him  in  the  midst  of  the 
world  of  music  and  make  him  listen  to  some  perfect  concert. 
What  does  he  know  of  it  ?  And  what  is  true  in  his  case  and  in 
the  case  of  the  child,  is  true  in  varying  degrees  and  varying  rela- 
tions of  all  of  us.  No  spirit  comprehends  the  world  about  it 
except  by  the  most  imperfect  divination.  We  can  trust  only  to 
1 1  Corinthians,  ii,  9. 


NATURE    OF   THE    FUTURE    LIFE  487 

certain  absolute  principles.  From  the  beginning  of  our  examina- 
tion the  ideas  of  the  reason  have  been  our  guides.  They  have 
suggested  to  us  the  content  of  the  religious  life,  they  have  shaped 
our  visions,  and  it  is  they  alone  that  can  give  us  any  prophecy 
in  regard  to  the  nature  of  the  immortal  life.  We  believe  that 
God  is  the  source  of  all  that  exalts  us  in  the  earth.  The  unity 
after  which  the  thought  of  philosophy  is  always  striving,  the  good- 
ness of  the  universe,  its  beauty,  these  all  are  only  the  manifesta- 
tions of  God.  We  are  assured  that  if  there  be  this  eternity  God 
fills  it,  and  that  what  has  been  the  source  of  joy  here  is  the  possible 
source  of  ever  increasing  joy,  a  joy  that  is  not  selfish  but  the 
opposite  of  selfishness. 

Various  questions  will  suggest  themselves  and  may  be  answered 
after  a  fashion.  There  is  the  question  as  to  the  recognition  of 
friends  in  the  coming  life,  the  relation  of  spirit  to  spirit.  It  may 
help  us  here  to  bear  in  mind  what  I  said  just  now  of  the  love 
which  clings  to  the  departed  as  one  of  the  powers  by  which  the 
faith  of  the  spirit  is  compelled  to  "trust  the  larger  hope"  and 
press  on,  as  it  were,  into  the  unseen  world.  Emerson  makes 
little  of  the  personal  element  that  we  have  been  considering.  * 
Yet  Emerson's  loftiest  song,  the  song  in  which  he  is  moved  to  a 
passion  that  we  rarely  find  in  him,  and  in  which  the  great  thought 
of  the  infinite  realities  becomes  most  clear  to  him,  is  that  poem 
which  grew  out  of  his  personal  bereavement.2 

There  is  the  question  as  to  universal  salvation.  Will  all  spirits 
reach  the  fruition  that  seems  possible  for  them,  at  least  in  their 
ideal  of  life,  or  will  some  either  drop  out  by  the  way  and  cease 
to  be,  or  else  continue  in  an  eternity  of  sin  and  misery?  Who 
can  venture  to  answer  such  questions  as  these  except  in  the 
familiar  words  that  I  have  just  used, 

"  And  faintly  trust  the  larger  hope."3 

The  difficulty  here  is  one  of  which  Dorner  makes  much,  the 
antinomy  between  God's  power  on  the  one  hand  and  individual 

1  Essay  on  Love.  2  Threnody.  3  In  Metnoriam,  lv. 


488  NATURE    OF    THE    FUTURE    LIFE 

freedom  on  the  other.  How  can  the  doctrine  of  universal  sal- 
vation be  affirmed  without  doing  violence  to  the  freedom  of  the 
individual?  Can  God  compel  a  spirit  to  love  him,  to  choose 
the  good  instead  of  the  evil?  On  the  other  hand  we  have  to 
recognize  the  might  of  the  forces  that  are  pushing  in  the  direction 
of  universal  salvation,  the  omnipotence  of  God  and  the  divine 
spirit,  and  the  real  nature  of  man  himself,  which,  however  it 
may  strive  to  satisfy  itself  with  lower  things,  yet  never  can  be 
satisfied  so  long  as  its  highest  possibilities  are  unfulfilled.  If 
we  look  about  us,  do  we  find  any  in  whom  the  germs  of  the  better 
life  have  wholly  disappeared?  As  your  eye  falls  on  some  com- 
pany of  roughs,  you  may  ask  yourself  what  elements  of  a  higher 
life  are  to  be  found  in  natures  such  as  theirs.  But  suddenly 
a  child  falls  into  the  water,  and  while  you  and  I  stand  full  of 
horror  but  shrinking  back,  one  of  these  men  plunges  in  and  saves 
the  child,  it  may  be  with  an  oath  on  his  lips  at  the  very  moment 
of  self-sacrifice. 

In  general  there  is  little  room  here  for  dogmatism,  but  great 
room  for  faith.  It  is  easy  to  paint  the  curtain  that  hides  from 
us  the  unseen  world  and  think  that  the  pictures  represent  it, 
but  the  curtain  is  still  there.  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  the 
play  of  the  imagination  by  which  we  attempt  to  make  what  is 
so  dimly  seen  more  concrete,  may  not  have  its  place.  We  may 
indeed  regret  that  such  pictures  cannot  be  more  real.  Yet  there 
is  the  danger  that  the  definite  representations  of  the  future  life 
that  are  sometimes  given,  however  comforting  and  helpful  in 
certain  ways,  may  exclude  or  weaken  somewhat  that  thought 
of  the  relation  to  the  infinite  which  after  all  is  among  the  most 
helpful  elements  of  the  great  doctrine.  The  inspiration  which 
comes  from  the  recognition  of  this  element  of  mystery  is  not  to 
be  lightly  prized,  even  while  we  trust  our  higher  faith  and  while 
our  imagination  pictures  for  us  as  it  can  that  which  "eye  hath 
not  seen,  nor  ear  heard." 

At  an  earlier  stage  in  the  examination  that  we  have  been  mak- 
ing we  considered  first  the  a  priori  and  then  the  a  posteriori  argu- 
ment for  religious  faith.     We  are  now  concluding  what  may  be 


FINAL    DEFINITION    OF    RELIGION  489 

regarded  as  a  third  argument,  the  argument  from  personal  expe- 
rience. It  is  found  in  the  religious  consciousness  itself,  in  the 
joy  and  power  of  the  religious  life,  in  the  sense  of  the  divine  com- 
munion. If  one  is  pressed  logically,  one  must  admit  that  looked 
at  from  the  outside  such  an  argument  rests  only  upon  the  indi- 
vidual interpretation  of  certain  phenomena  of  consciousness,  and 
that  there  is  the  possibility  of  self-deception.  Nevertheless  we 
must  recognize  that  it  is  precisely  what  the  a  priori  and  a  posteriori 
arguments  lead  us  to  expect.  It  comes  as  a  confirmation  of 
them — as  a  confirmation,  too,  without  which  they  would  lose  much 
of  their  power.  One  may  be  deceived  in  regard  to  the  external 
world,  one  knows  that  there  may  be  delusions  there,  and  yet 
one  cannot  help  trusting  the  testimony  of  the  senses.  Here  we 
have  the  spiritual  sense,  and  thus  the  experience  of  religion 
becomes  one  of  the  most  important  arguments  for  the  truth  of 
religion.  The  phrase  "experience  of  religion"  is  often  used, 
if  not  wrongly,  certainly  in  its  least  important  significance.  A 
person  is  said  to  have  experienced  religion  at  the  moment  when 
his  religious  life  begins,  whereas  properly  and  strictly  the  expe- 
rience of  religion  should  come  with  the  continuance  and  develop- 
ment of  the  religious  life  itself.  A  sailor's  "experience"  does 
not  come  in  the  moment  when  he  first  sets  foot  on  board  his  ship 
or  first  feels  the  motion  of  the  waves  beneath  him;  such  a  moment 
may  well  be  an  epoch  in  his  life,  but  experience  is  something  that 
can  come  to  him  only  with  the  long  years  of  actual  service. 

With  the  close  of  the  argument  from  personal  experience  we 
reach  our  sixth  and  final  definition  of  religion.  As  we  added 
to  the  fourth  definition  *  the  element  of  Christianity  to  obtain  the 
fifth  definition,2  so  now  we  add  the  element  of  the  personal  expe- 
rience of  the  individual  soul.  Religion,  then,  is  the  Feeling 
toward  a  Spiritual  Presence  manifesting  itself  in  Truth, 
Goodness  and  Beauty,  especially  as  illustrated  in  the 
life  and  teaching  of  jesus  and  as  experienced  in  every 
soul  that  is  open  to  its  influence. 

i  Page  55.  2  Page  408. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    AUTHORITY    OF    THE    CHURCH. — BAPTISM. — COMMUNION. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  consider  at  length  the  development 
of  the  authority  of  the  Christian  Church.  Comparisons  are 
sometimes  made  between  that  authority  and  the  authority  of  sci- 
ence. The  world,  it  is  said,  respects  the  authority  of  science 
as  it  does  not  that  of  the  church.  It  should  be  remembered, 
however,  that  the  authority  of  the  Church  is  of  two  kinds:  on 
the  one  hand  it  is  concerned  with  religion  itself,  the  spiritual 
experience  of  the  human  soul,  and  on  the  other  hand  it  has  to 
do  with  matters  of  belief  and  administration  which  have  grown 
up  about  religion.  In  this  second  aspect  it  is  either  a  divided 
authority  or  an  authority  assumed  at  second  hand,  and  must 
naturally  suffer  when  set  beside  the  comparatively  undivided 
authority  of  science.  But  in  its  first  aspect,  in  its  relation  to 
spiritual  experience,  it  is  an  authority  at  first  hand  and  absolute. 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  misapprehensions  or  contradic- 
tions in  the  beliefs  about  religion,  underneath  and  through  them 
all  the  Church  has  nourished  the  positive  thought  of  the  spiritual 
presence,  and  so  the  faith  of  the  absolute  religion.  The  eternal 
heavens  may  often  have  been  obscured  by  the  disputes  of  the 
theologians,  but  there  has  been  no  time  at  which  the  eternal 
light  has  not  shone  through.  As  regards  the  three  ideas  of  the 
reason,  the  Church  has  recognized  them  in  varying  degree,  but 
in  general,  by  its  philosophy,  by  its  methods  of  organization  and 
of  work,  and  by  its  services,  it  has  tended  to  do  its  part  in  fur- 
nishing to  the  religious  life  its  content  of  truth  and  goodness 
and  beauty. 

It  remains  for  me  to  consider,  though  very  briefly,  the  two 
rites  which  the  Church  at  large  has  recognized,  the  one  positive, 
the    other    negative,    communion    and    baptism.     The    rite    of 


BAPTISM    AND    COMMUNION  491 

baptism  represents  negatively  the  cleansing  of  the  spirit  and  its 
entrance  upon  a  new  career.  It  seems  especially  fit  and  pleas- 
ing in  the  case  of  infants  and  of  those  who  are  about  to  join  for 
the  first  time  in  the  communion  service.  It  is  easy  to  ridicule 
the  baptism  of  infants  on  the  ground  that  we  are  doing  for  them 
that  which  they  do  not  understand.  But  we  do  not  usually 
wait  to  do  something  for  a  child  until  it  can  understand  what 
we  are  doing.  We  do  not  wait  till  it  is  conscious  before  we  adopt 
it  into  our  hearts,  and  as  the  son  or  daughter  rejoices  that  the 
love  of  father  and  mother  met  them  at  their  birth,  so  it  may  be 
a  help  to  a  man  or  a  woman  to  think  that  the  Church  thus  met 
them  and  received  them  upon  their  entrance  into  the  world. 

As  regards  the  communion,  the  fact  that  the  Church  has  chosen 
this  method  to  commemorate  its  founder  is  enough.  It  is  first 
of  all  a  service  of  commemoration ;  in  how  intense  a  form  we  do 
not  always  remember.  It  goes  back  without  a  break  to  the  tender- 
est  moment  in  the  life  of  Jesus.  It  is  almost  as  though  we  received 
the  cup  warm  from  the  hand  of  the  Master  himself.  One  should 
bear  in  mind  that  in  all  that  is  essential  it  is  a  very  simple  ser- 
vice, and  also  that  it  is  a  service  which  has  been  newly  conse- 
crated again  and  again  by  the  holy  men  and  women,  the  heroic 
lives,  who  in  every  age  have  joined  in  it.  Furthermore,  it  is  a 
symbol  both  of  the  profound  mysticism  which  underlies  all  true 
religion  and  especially  the  Christian  religion,  and  also  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  daily  life  of  men  should  be  transfigured. 

It  has  been  too  often  associated  with  artificial  interpretations 
of  its  meaning.  Too  often,  also,  it  has  been  held  to  apply  to  an 
actual  attainment  of  the  worshipper  rather  than  to  his  aspiration 
and  endeavor.  But  rightly  understood  it  brings  the  soul  into 
present  relation  with  the  highest  spiritual  realities.  It  is  at  once 
a  commemoration  of  the  fullest  manifestation  of  the  spiritual 
life  that  the  world  has  seen,  and  also  a  call  to  everyone  to  share 
in  that  higher  life.  We  speak  sometimes  of  looking  back  to 
Jesus.  Is  it  really  a  backward  look  ?  Or  do  we  look  forward 
to  him? 


Date  Due 


1  1 


012  01007  0680 


